


Engage the Night

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: The Richardson Vampires [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, I KNOW AND I'M SORRY, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prequel, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ackles and the Padaleckis: two families living in the same town, existing in two completely different worlds. Jared Padalecki—young, intelligent, and angry—belongs in the Texas sunlight, while Jensen Ackles—cold, distant, and calculating—courts favor as the prince of the night. Their paths never cross until one unremarkable evening when Jared’s outspoken stubbornness lights a fire in Jensen’s heart. Lust, misunderstanding, and frustration layer each meeting the two have as the young man and the vampire try their best to balance an uncertain friendship with the traditions holding them back. (This story begins four years before 'It Begins in the Blood.')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engage the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to my 'The Richardson Vampires' Series. This story kicks off four years before 'It Begins in the Blood' and takes us through Jared's senior year in high school (and Jared is 17 for a portion of the story). Prior knowledge of the Richardson Vampires Series is not necessary, but I'd highly recommend them afterwards ;)

**PART ONE.**

“What the hell, Jared?” Chad drops his bin with a clatter and storms across the nearly empty restaurant. “Your mom’s gonna freak if she finds out you’re here.”

Here being Crowne’s Bistro, one of the only 24-hour establishments that exists in Richardson, Texas. The place is owned by a vampire, staffed by humans until the moon chases the sun out of the sky. Needless to say, their late-night menu isn’t as appealing to human stomachs.

“I’m seventeen,” Jared reminds Chad, slumping down at a table. “Still off limits, remember? Besides, you’re here.”

“Grayson’s my family’s Patron, and since he owns the place, I’m probably safer in here than I’d be anywhere else. And at least I’m getting paid.”

Jared rolls dry fingers across his temple. Patrons. Rules. _Vampires_. He’s fed up with the entire scheme. Chad brings him a Coke and he grinds an ice cube back to water between his teeth.

“Did you get into another fight with your parents?” Chad asks when he returns sans dirty dishes. Must be close to the end of his shift; Patron or no, Grayson wouldn’t keep him here past sunset. “The college thing again?”

Jared sighs. “It’s not fair. Richardson shouldn’t be my only option,” he complains. “I mean, kids move here to go to college—which is insane, by the way—so why can’t I go somewhere else?” Unlucky enough to be born in Richardson, Jared’s forever a prisoner to the vampires. Like livestock, caged and helpless.

“Let’s just get out of here, dude,” Chad says, knocking Jared’s shoulder. “My shift’s over and the sun’s just about gone—”

The front door opens, a cool, unnatural breeze wafting over Jared’s wrists. The skin on his arms prickles, breath fogging past his lips; he doesn’t need to turn around to know that a vampire just walked in.

The sun is nothing more than a desperate beam between buildings, the shadows growing. Jared sees Chad’s eyes go wide; they both recognize the vampire at the door. Jensen Ackles rarely shows up at mundane venues like this, more likely to be found at society dinners with a blood-groupie on each arm, or at one of the clubs, ordering the most expensive bottle of scotch.

Chad, the only employee on the floor, wrangles his surprise. “Can I help you?”

Ackles’ eyes are cold and murky, his clothes are crisp and perfect as if they’ve been frozen in place. Jaw set, features sculpted…Jared’s stuck and can’t stop staring. He’s never been this close to a member of the Founding Family. The vampire’s gaze seems to pass through him, an icy fist squeezing Jared’s throat for a split second before he’s released, his nails digging into the tabletop.

“No,” Ackles says. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Jared, already on edge, feels his hackles rise. “We have as much right—”

Chad grabs his arm. “We were just leaving.”

Ackles adds nothing, but he tracks Chad and Jared as they move towards the side door, Chad’s car in the lot just beyond. Though he fights it, Jared’s unable to look away from the vampire, a cold no less bitter in his own eyes, because Ackles represents everything that disgusts him—the rules that shackle him to this unfulfilling, exhausting, and terrifying life.

And he may be imagining it—a mirage brought on by anger—but Jared swears he sees something begin to stir in Ackles’ expression, a ripple in the cold waters that belies a greater threat beneath the surface.

~~~

Jared takes his anger out on the mailbox when yet another college application is returned to sender, unopened. Kicks the post, darkens his knuckles on weathered metal, feels the scratch and slice as his palm catches a rusty number.

“What are you doing?” His mother jogs down the front steps. “Jared, stop that.” She takes the shredded envelope, softly touches his hand. “I’m sorry,” she says, “but you knew it was going to happen.”

Each day brings Jared closer to turning eighteen, the age of independence and adulthood, but he feels like crying now. Crumpling into his mom’s arms and begging her to fix this. He knows she can’t; Richardson is home to _can’ts_ and _shouldn’ts_.

Inside, the application disappears into one of his mother’s cabinets, impossibility out of sight but not forgotten. Jared falls heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, schoolbag dropped at his feet. His mom doesn’t offer platitudes or explanations—unlike the ones she had for the last two blocked applications—which he appreciates, but disappointment is thick and dry like ash on his tongue.

“There’s a council meeting tonight,” she offers along with a plate of apple slices and warm caramel sauce. Jared’s almost distracted from his depression by his favorite snack, but he looks up, confused.

“So?”

“I think you should come with us.”

That’s a surprise. Like most regular towns, Richardson has a town hall—brick and columns, very traditional—and a mayor. Someone upstanding with a bleached, average life. But behind that, operating in the dark, is the council. Made up of humans who _know_ , serving as a collective voice for Richardson’s day-walking population. It’s also a complete joke, Jared thinks. The council is useless against the rules and traditions set forth by the vampires. Still, Jared’s never gone to a meeting. Underage residents rarely do.

“You’re almost eighteen,” she explains, “and I think it’s time you see how certain things work around here.”

Jared scoffs. “I know how they work.”

“The Founder’s going to be there.”

The surprises keep coming. “Why?”

His mother shrugs. “He usually attends once or twice a year. It’s a good thing,” she adds, gaze far off, “it lends the council some weight.”

Jared doubts that. If anything, the Founder attends in order to quash any vamp-unfriendly ideas. But Jared’s interest has been piqued—the Founder is Jensen Ackles’ father, and Jared hasn’t been able to get their incredibly brief encounter out of his mind. They traded stares nearly a month ago, and while Jared hasn’t seen Ackles since, there’s a chance he could be at the council, too.

“Fine. What time does it start?”

~~~

Jared ducks out of the auditorium midway through a mind-numbing discussion on curfews. Why anyone would want to be exempt from the curfew, Jared has no idea. Being out after dark is like signing up to be a blood-bag on two legs; even being underage wouldn’t stop certain vampires from feeding if Jared went out—even vampires break laws.

After visiting the men’s room, Jared wanders the hallways of his high school, the ambiance different without the constant thrum of student activity. Long shadows, cold lockers, closed doors with windows into inky-blackness. Jared’s footsteps echo, the only sound in the corridors. He’s heading back towards the auditorium when he hears another noise. High, fading, not very loud, it’s coming from around the next corner. Jared approaches with caution, keeping himself in the light, because the shadows of Richardson lend no shelter. Just before he rounds the corner, Jared discerns more than one voice.

Albert Ackles, Richardson’s Founder, had been sitting stoically at the head of the council meeting when Jared excused himself, but his son is twenty feet away, leaning hypotenuse-straight against the wall. Jensen’s body looms over a second, feminine form, his head bent low to the woman’s shoulder. Jared hears the unmistakable sound of laughter, breathy and delicate. Ackles angles himself away and Jared sees her face, flushed, batting flirtatious eyelashes. Even with inadequate light, Jared recognizes the young woman; he’s seen her around Richardson. More importantly, he’s seen her going into _Lash_ , a club close to Chad’s parents’ place.

A well-known haunt for fangs and fangbangers to mix and mingle, _Lash_ is one of the last places Jared would ever want to be. Willing humans offering up their blood, their _lives_ , to the creatures essentially keeping them prisoner. It’s pathetic. Incomprehensible. 

The woman with Jensen bares her throat, slender fingers holding Ackles’ elbow to guide him closer. Jared shudders. _Whore_. Not a word he’s used to saying, or even thinking, but it pops into his head and he can’t feel bad. He stares, horrified, as she writhes and slithers against the wall, and yet she and Ackles are barely touching. Three points of contact: her hand to his elbow, his mouth to her neck, and her hair tangled around Ackles’ fingers like tattered, bloody scraps.

Jared is startled when he notices that Ackles has detached himself from his dinner date, the vampire’s tongue dark and blood-stained as it curls out to lick his lips. And he’s staring straight at Jared. The fire of recognition catches quickly, and though the fangbanger continues to moan softly, moving sinuously for attention, Ackles never looks away. Jared waits to be put down, scolded or taunted by that sharp tongue, but the barb never comes. It’s a stand-off; the intensity of their locked gazes escalates until the hallway’s silence begins to roar like a cresting tidal wave.

Shock evaporates and details come into focus. The woman’s dilated pupils, the way her body strains for contact. The deliberate manner in which Ackles holds himself apart, the distance increasing as he continues to watch Jared. The drop of blood that remains on Ackles’ bottom lip as a warning. Or a temptation.

Jared’s stomach recoils on itself as he turns away. Only when he’s no longer held by that green stare does he realize how much the movement drained him. He takes a deep breath and leaves, releases it when he’s within sight of the auditorium.

His escape is only temporary.

The council meeting wraps up after dark and the humans move quickly to their cars despite supposedly being untouchable in the Founder’s presence. An unnatural shiver walks up Jared’s spine as soon as he steps outside, and he knows without checking that Ackles is waiting for him. Jared’s teachers, neighbors, and parents of friends hurry past as if they’re oblivious to the vampire. Or compelled to rush by without notice.

Jared stops, facing his parents, and considers not turning around. No law requires him to attend this cocky bastard even if he is the Founder’s son, and Jared’s parents wear no seal of Protection—no one _owns_ the Padaleckis. But as badly as he wants to turn his back, literally, on these fucking bloodsuckers, he won’t invite that kind of trouble. Not with his parents frozen five steps ahead on the sidewalk.

Ackles glances down at Jared’s wrist as soon as he turns, and asks, “Who do you belong to?”

Actually, screw trouble—the fine, the tax, whatever they want to do to him—Jared wishes he could sock this vamp right in the jaw.

“No one,” he grates, low enough that only Ackles hears him. “Why? Are you gonna report me for interrupting dinner?”

“That was nothing important,” Ackles says. Jared’s stomach feels heavy now, rocks rolling over one another whenever he shifts. “You seemed intrigued.”

Jared frowns. “Is that why you’re out here? Figured you’d get a second course?” It’s difficult to hold his nerve while Ackles stalks closer, graceful over uneven concrete. Jared takes a deep breath. “I’m only seventeen.”

“Your age won’t stop everyone.” Ackles stops a breath away; Jared leans into the chill for a second before pulling away. “You wear no mark, your parents refuse Protection—”

“We follow the rules. We shouldn’t need it.”

“Still, it’s one less barrier between you and the unsavory characters.”

Smothering the tremor in his voice, Jared narrows his eyes and says, “You’re all the same to me.”

He hears his mother’s gasp. Ackles warns her against approaching with a pointed glare over Jared’s shoulder.

“You know so little,” Ackles tells him, voice so cold there ought to be icicles forming on his lips. “That puts you at a disadvantage.”

“It’s no less than you know about me,” Jared hisses.

“Then maybe we both have something to learn,” Ackles says, taking a step back. The shadows embrace him until all Jared sees is his face—pale, perfect, and ruinous. “Until next time, Jared.”

And then Jensen Ackles is gone. Jared’s parents quickstep him back to the car, passing a stone-faced Founder along the way. So much for a night to take his mind off his issues—next time his mother suggests an outing like this, Jared vows to stay home.

Back in his room, finishing his physics work-set with headphones blaring, it dawns on Jared that he’d never given Ackles his name.

~~~

Jared doesn’t count many vampires as personal acquaintances. Whether because they’re nocturnal or, like humans, they don’t need to visit the slaughterhouse in order to enjoy a good steak, most keep their distance. And despite living in Richardson his entire life, Jared’s not sure who they all are; it’s possible, albeit challenging, for a fang to blend in.

But Jared knows plenty of vamps by their reputations. For example, Chad’s boss Victor Grayson disguises himself as a ruthless yet reclusive businessman with stakes in companies all over town. According to Jared’s best friend, Grayson bankrolls a significant number of vampire causes which affords him not a small amount of influence. But employment with Grayson comes at a price, usually in the form of a contract of Protection which, for all its fancy words, is written to favor the undead party.

Then there are vampires like Alex and Lyssa Sterling (ironic surname, Jared thinks) who don’t bother to hide behind façades of _upstanding citizen_. The siblings are notorious, depraved in their lusts and habits. They take pleasure in coercion, never satisfied with donated blood. Clubs like _Lash_ are their dens—the night, their banquet hall. Their uninhibited lifestyle has gained them a stable of followers, both human and vampire.

Alex Sterling has caused problems for Jared’s parents in the past, frustrated by their refusal of his Protection. But the cost of a contract with the Sterlings is measured in more than just blood and money, and Jared’s grateful that he didn’t grow up indebted to that psychopath or his sister.

The Ackles name is equally well known. Albert Ackles settled in Richardson over a century ago, and while most residents assume the name has been passed down to the Founder’s great-great grandson, Jared’s been around long enough to know they’re the same individual. Rumor placed Albert and Jensen in Richardson very little; Jared wonders if their constant travel means there are other towns where vampires walk amongst humans. At least it would mean Richardson isn’t alone in their oppression.

According to gossip, Jensen Ackles showed little interest in Richardson or its human population beyond blood—a man cold in body and spirit. Described as vain, methodical, pitiless, his needs and desires were always satisfied. The few times Jared had seen Ackles, he’d been attached at the throat to yet another blood-buddy (never the same one twice). He fed from the beautiful, the impressionable. To Jared, those humans were the lowest of the low.

Jared grew up loathing fangs like Jensen Ackles, but counted on their lives never intertwining.

It sucks to be wrong.

He can’t escape Ackles. Last week, Ackles had stopped by the Padalecki’s computer store just before closing, spinning a good yarn about a malfunctioning laptop. Holding himself motionless, barely breathing behind a door in the back of the store, Jared watched and listened as the vampire talked to his dad. Finally Ackles looked up, immediately locked eyes with Jared through the narrow slit, and grinned. Jared had pressed a hand over his stomach and fled.

Now, Jared’s waiting outside the high school on a ride from Chad, slouched on the front steps when a dark import rolls to a stop at the curb. Sleek lines, shiny finish, the sedan _smells_ like disposable income. No mistaking it as anything other than a vampire’s car, heavily tinted windows on all sides and a white license plate with the number 2 embossed in crimson.

 _Be more obvious_ , Jared thinks with a full roll of his eyes.

Given his recent luck, he’s not surprised when the window is lowered to reveal Jensen Ackles in the driver’s seat.

“You know stalking’s illegal, right?” Jared asks without getting up.

“There’s no need for me to stalk you,” Ackles replies, leaning across the passenger seat. He’s careful to avoid the weak sunlight allowed into the car through the open window.

“So you just know where I am, like, all the time? Am I giving off some kind of scent you’re able to track?” Jared’s gut turns sour. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

“Neither,” Ackles says, and while that makes Jared feel marginally better, he’s unsure what to make of the upturned corners of the vampire’s mouth. With his fangs hidden, the expression could be a smile. “I was on my way…somewhere, and saw you.”

Feeling bolder, Jared stands and approaches the sedan, eyes making slow sweeps of the street.

Ackles then says, “I thought you might appreciate a ride.”

Jared laughs. “Does this look like a drive-thru? I’m not your damn Happy Meal.”

“Pity, I was looking forward to getting my toy.”

Blinking, Jared is at a loss. Ackles’ line wasn’t all that funny, but Jared doesn’t want to know anything about his sense of humor; he doesn’t want to _know_ Ackles at all. His father drafted the rules that beat Jared down at every opportunity. The only thing he wants to do is hate Jensen Ackles. But that’s troublesome when this sophisticated barbarian is smirking like he’s just told the greatest joke in history. Because he would know.

“It’s getting late,” Ackles points out, face still lit up from within. “You need to get home, Jared.”

“That’s another thing.” Jared saunters right up to the passenger door. From there he can see that Ackles is alone. “I never told you my name.”

“It’s true, we’ve never been introduced, but clearly you know who I am.” Ackles offers a pale hand across the seat. “Jensen Ackles. It’s a pleasure.”

Jared is granted half-a-second to decide whether or not to attempt civility—a heartbeat before the moment becomes awkward. As much as he doesn’t want Ackles as an acquaintance, Jared certainly can’t afford him as an enemy, so he reaches out half expecting his heart to freeze up at the touch.

All he receives is a firm handshake, albeit a little on the cool side. Ackles doesn’t prolong the contact, doesn’t grind Jared’s knuckles into salt or yank him further into the car. But he does ask, “Is that a no on my offer?”

“Sorry, I don’t get in cars with strangers.”

A flash of fang. “Now we’ve been formally introduced—we’re no longer strangers.” Around them, streetlights click on in warning, neon buzz adding to the rush of sound in the back of Jared’s mind. “I promise, it’s just a ride. Anywhere you need to go, and you’ll get there safely.”

The white noise compresses itself into a single word Jared can’t pin behind his teeth.

“Why?”

Ackles looks surprised. “I’ve been—”

A set of headlights cut into the scene, a honk and an impatient shout of “Jared!” tearing the moment apart. Chad pulls up behind Ackles’ sedan in his mom’s van, leaning cautiously out the window and waving. “My bad, man. Got held up at work. Let’s get outta here.”

Jared’s instincts are roaring; he wants to be angry, pissed at his best friend for crashing into his strange back-and-forth with Ackles, but by the time Jared glances back into the car, whatever Ackles was going to say has dissolved. The openness Jared thought he’d seen has withered into a shrewd stare.

He means to thank the vampire for his offer (his parents raised him to be polite), but as soon as he leans away from the window, Ackles shifts the car into gear and speeds away leaving Jared exposed under the false glow of artificial lights. Chad honks again.

“C’mon, Jared,” he says, nerves showing, “your mom’s totally gonna call my parents if I’m late again.”

~~~

Jared receives his acceptance to UTCW in early December. The thick envelope of forms and information is positioned proudly in the middle of the dining room table when he gets home, arranged by his mom so there’s no chance of missing it. Jared scowls and leaves it there, marching straight up to his room.

He can’t remember actually applying, but it wouldn’t surprise him if those acceptances were pre-addressed and sent to everyone like Jared—forever unlucky in his knowledge of vampires. And if he had applied, there’d been no memorable effort put into it, holding onto the thread of hope that if he was rejected, maybe they’d kick him out of Richardson.

His parents use dinner to celebrate his achievement. Jared stares blankly at his favorite meal—homemade deep dish pizza with spicy chicken and ranch dressing—and tries to remember to smile every few minutes. Can’t fault his parents for trying, but Jared wants to break something. Break his hands _on_ something, and a pale, sculpted jaw suddenly comes to mind.

While his dad talks about majors and his mom not so subtly implies that he’s welcome to live at home for one semester or eight, Jared counts down the minutes until he can retire the false excitement, escape back to his room, and mourn the normal life he’ll never have.

~~~

Monday morning, Jared walks into Physics and overhears two other seniors talking about their UTCW acceptances.

“My parents are pretty happy, you know? They can’t afford to send me out of state, and with the scholarships I’m getting, I won’t need student loans.”

“Yeah, my sister’s there now and says it’s alright—dorms are pretty cool. Thank god it’s not all townies though, ‘cause then it’d be like high school all over again.”

Jared rereads the same line in his notes until he can see the words when he blinks.

“Did you apply anywhere else?”

“I was gonna, but now I don’t see the point. Why waste the money when I know I’ll just end up here? What about you?”

“I’m still waiting to hear about Florida—my dad played basketball there—but I’m glad I have a backup.”

 _Ignorant fools_ , Jared thinks. What he wouldn’t give…

These guys have no idea how rigged the system is. Even though they’re unaware of the vampires and therefore, like, a threat level Green, their lives are still being manipulated. Jared wants to scream, punch them, make them understand that having a choice is the greatest gift, and they squander it. He wants to tell them why, but the rules are unforgiving and the punishments strict; Jared would never force his parents to endure that.

Jared bites his tongue until the bell rings, Chad slipping into class at the last second. He drops his notebook next to Jared’s on the workbench and nods. There’s a UTCW packet in his bag, and he smiles sadly.

At least Jared won’t be alone.

Not that Chad’s a great study partner (Jared learned that a long time ago). It’s evident after school as he watches Chad hustle back and forth at Crowne’s. They were supposed to finish their Calculus homework together (Chad’s a mathematics savant whereas Jared and numbers are old foes), but Chad had been called in to cover a shift. Jared tagged along hoping for a slow afternoon, but there’s been a steady stream of college students and early diners coming through the door. At this rate, with Chad swinging by Jared’s corner table every so often with sweet tea refills and deciphered integrals, it’ll be a while before Jared leaves.

Between Chad’s Calculus knowledge bombs, Jared pulls out the rough draft of his speech for English and tries to memorize his own words. That’s tough with the number of distractions—townies gathered with beer and nachos, quiet groups of adults taking very late lunches, noise and conversation from every angle—so Jared closes his eyes and practices the speech from memory, stumbling often. 

He’s silently reciting his closing when the sounds around him shift. Not enough for most to notice, but Jared learned vigilance early on. Jared takes a breath before he opens his eyes, identifying the tingle on his lips. Given the number of possibilities, Jared’s relieved to see Jensen Ackles standing beside his table.

“Scotch, top shelf,” Ackles orders from Chad without hesitiating. Though he looks uncomfortable, Chad retraces his steps to the bar, glancing over his shoulder.

Jared needs to ask. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I allowed to have a drink?” Ackles helps himself to the seat across from Jared. Conversation continues around them, but there are some customers, like Jared, who recognize the vampire and remain on guard. A few leave. Ackles ignores them. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Jared’s has his doubts. “How’d you get here?”

“I drove, and then I walked in,” Ackles says. Jared scowls. “There _are_ ways to move around during daylight. Not all of us enjoy being homebodies.”

Chad returns with Ackles’ liquor. He sets the glass down and waits, looking between the two of them. “Should I call Grayson?”

Jensen frowns, doesn’t look at Chad when he says, “I’m welcome here.”

“Not if you’re harassing my friend, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

Jared feels the way the vampire’s voice has frozen over, and he jumps in. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m fine, Chad.” Both men turn to him. “Ackles and I were just talking.”

“You know him?” Chad sounds disbelieving.

“Yeah, we’re—”

“Quickly moving beyond acquaintances,” Ackles finishes for him, though they’re not the words Jared would have used. “And I’d like to speak to Jared alone.” 

Chad lingers as if Ackles is going to ask permission. Obviously it never comes, and Jared watches Chad retreat to the kitchen.

“Wow, nice,” he mutters. “That went terribly.”

Ackles shrugs. “You should call me Jensen.”

“Is that a demand?”

“A friendly request,” he says. “I’m not used to people calling me by my father’s surname.”

“Is he really your father?” Jared blurts out. “Or, I mean, how does that work?”

Jared expects evasion, or stony silence, but Jensen says, “I don’t often care to admit it, but Albert is my father. Our relationship began long before we came to Richardson.”

A thousand questions storm Jared’s thoughts; there is so much he wants to know, things he needs to understand if he’s ever going to escape Richardson. Jensen appears unfazed, willing to talk, and Jared nearly lets his fierce curiosity run rampant, but he pulls up short. His desire for knowledge screams, but the greater part of him wants no part of anything Jensen could offer.

Jensen sips his scotch, casually flipping through one of Jared’s textbooks. When that no longer amuses him, he pulls Jared’s homework out from under his fingers and scans the work.

“There’s an error in the second problem. The derivation of—”

Jared snatches it back. “Why are you here?”

“I told you.”

“No, you definitely didn’t,” Jared mutters, gathering his schoolwork. “This place isn’t really your scene.”

“My scene?”

“Somewhere you can”—he drops his voice—“feed. Why not _Lash_ or one of the other clubs? Or,” he adds with derision, “do you prefer unconventional places, like school hallways?”

Jensen does him the favor of not looking away. “You weren’t meant to see that. It was careless, I admit. But,” he says, “she was willing.”

“Sure she was,” Jared mumbles under his breath, but of course Jensen hears. 

“What bothers you so much about feeding?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Jared leans across the table, anger emboldening.

“Some…” Jensen chooses his words carefully, “choose to give their blood in that way. It’s better than the alternative.”

“What, like getting it from blood taxes? Not enough sport in that for you?”

“You misunderstand me. The donated blood is adequate for the majority, but no one’s going to decline an offer to feed when it’s made willingly.” Jensen takes a generous sip of his scotch, acting as if this is a normal conversation. Jared has never heard of a vampire being this candid. “And I meant to say that it’s better than simply taking what we want. For everyone.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jared says. A few pairs of eyes cut over in his direction. “Just look at this town, at the way things _really_ are. Do you honestly think any of your groupies are one hundred percent willing?” He huffs, blood starting to simmer. “You make us think that we have a choice, but we don’t. That’s not consent, that’s coercion.”

“Protection was created to ensure a balanced relationship—”

“Oh my God, I can’t listen to this.” Jared frantically repacks his schoolbag, needing out before he shatters his hand on Jensen’s jaw for real. His anger’s at a rolling boil; he can barely look at Jensen when he says, “Enjoy your drink. Please leave me alone.”

But Jared holds little hope of that happening, especially when Jensen stands and says, “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“No, just—no.”

Chad moves to intercept Jared as he walks away from the table, but Jared warns him off with a sharp look. Stepping into the sunlight immediately puts Jared in a better mood, but he doesn’t linger on the sidewalk. Without Chad to drive him, Jared’s stuck walking home, setting a brisk pace so he won’t get caught by the waning light.

The further he goes, the angrier he becomes. How _dare_ Jensen dismiss Jared’s situation? He obviously doesn’t know the first thing about living as a human in Richardson; what’s worse, he barely seems to care. Part of Jared hopes that Jensen is following in his sedan just so he can strike a match off his bitterness and burn the vampire with the force of it. But the rest of him is still confused by Jensen’s recent interest (for lack of a better word) in him. He’s used to existing as nothing more than a blood-bag with a pulse to the fanged contingent, and that allowed his resentment to grow, unhindered, for nearly eighteen years. The change is jarring. 

Right now, it’s easy for Jared to smother the quiet voice in his head telling him that he’s been given a rare opportunity: Jensen’s willing to talk to him, why not exploit that connection in order to find answers? Anger wins out, however, and Jared keeps walking.

He tells himself not to look back, but each time he does, there’s no trace of the tinted sedan.

**PART TWO**

Winter in Richardson feels like an extension of fall. Leaves wither and drop into piles of brown decay, but the weather is mild and sunny—a small blessing.

For Christmas, Jared’s parents gift him with a new cell phone (his old one worked better as a paperweight), sneakers, and a box filled with UTCW gear: t-shirt, track pants, and notebooks. They smile, Jared smiles—everyone attempting to make the best of a bad situation. He’s grateful when they finally move on to cooking their traditional family dinner.

There’s no sign of Jensen, no clues leading Jared to believe his shadow’s been lurking close by. At first, he’s relieved. Life’s hard enough without a vampire haunting his steps. Jared assumes Ackles left town again while ignoring the twinge in his stomach. He doesn’t hide, sits outside on overcast afternoons, and hangs around Crowne’s waiting for Chad, but Jensen never shows.

Chad insists on hanging out for New Year’s Eve, and since Jared flat-out refuses to go to a club, they settle on a party at Katie Cassidy’s house. 

Katie’s reputation pens her as the wild-child of Richardson High School. She’s the only child of Nathan and Carmen Cassidy, the top of the town’s rotting social ladder—a precarious position if there ever was one. With a full docket of engagements and commitments, the Cassidys are constantly leaving Katie with an empty house and a full liquor cabinet, making her the best friend of every eager-to-party student in town.

The first floor is at capacity when Jared and Chad arrive, but less than half of the faces are familiar. Probably college students tolerating a high school party for free beer and hot jailbait action. Jared’s over the scene five minutes after they walk in, but Chad drags him deeper into the close press of bodies. They find Katie on the glassed-in patio, blond waves swinging as she mixes cocktails so sweet, they’d kill a hummingbird.

“Jare! Chad!” she shouts as she spies them. “Happy New Year, bitches! Why don’t you have drinks?” Katie presses two unopened, barely cold beers into their hands. “Get with the program, boys!”

Despite his misgivings, Jared begins to enjoy himself. He leaves Chad with Katie and finds a few of his former RHS soccer teammates—now UTCW students—and spends nearly an hour catching up with them as he nurses the same stale beer. No telling what state Chad will be in later, and someone will need to drive Chad’s car home.

Jared circles back to the patio just before midnight. A few seconds later, as the New Year begins, he’s kissing Katie. She slips her Bacardi-slick tongue into his mouth, flicks it behind his teeth, and pulls away laughing. She turns and gives Chad the same treatment, only his hands hold her close, extending the moment. It’s not the worst way to welcome a new year, but Jared finds himself wishing for a change of scenery.

The party’s far from over. Half the guests have gone, but the noise and intensity spikes, those remaining have no intention of quitting before dawn.

“I can’t believe your parents are cool with this,” Chad yells to be heard over the beat. “If I did this, mine would ship me off to Siberia!”

Katie laughs, her lips stained red. “Alex always wants me to have a good time while my parents are gone!”

Jared pulse grinds to a halt.

Chad, too, has stilled. “Alex. As in Alex _Sterling_?”

Katie doesn’t need to confirm it; the ‘duh’ is all over her face. “Yeah, he’s like my dad’s business partner. He takes care of everything for me, even”—she stage whispers—“the drinks. And my parents never care. It’s cool!”

Stunned, they watch Katie dance into the next room. Given their wealth, connections, and unusually frequent trips, Jared suspected that Katie’s family was under someone’s protection because, unlike Jared’s family, the Cassidys weren’t long-time residents. They’d moved to Richardson six years ago and gained standing quickly; that kind of influence usually came at an obscene price. 

Contracts with vampires are bad enough. To discover that it’s _Alex Sterling_ behind the Cassidys’ movements—that knowing adults would hand their underage daughter over to a _thing_ so depraved—chills Jared down to his marrow. Business partners…yeah right. The only business Alex has with humans is the type involving blood. In Jared’s mind, no amount of power or protection is worth paying that cost. Suddenly Jared no longer sees Katie as someone to be envied; he pities her.

Soon it’s two a.m. and the glass of the front window is cool against Jared’s forehead. He needs to dig Chad out from under the pile of drowsy, barely coherent partiers, but he can’t bring himself to move. Might be smarter to stay put anyway, carve out enough space for his six-plus feet of arms and legs on a loveseat rather than venture out, but Katie’s house no longer feels safe. 

Jared’s gaze skips from car to car out on the street, tells himself he’s not looking for anyone in the darkness. Maybe that’s why it takes him a second to place the sedan parked just up the block, paint reflecting the clear midnight above. Too nice to belong to any of the coeds currently sprawled throughout Katie’s house. Must be a coincidence, though; Jensen’s not the only fang in town with a slick set of wheels. Of course, if it’s _not_ Jensen, none of the other possibilities make Jared feel any better. He wipes away the fog his breath leaves on the window, keeps the car in his sights. Nearly trips over his own feet when the sedan’s headlights are turned on, a halogen glow beamed straight across the yard into Jared’s window.

A full minute passes before the car pulls away and Jared’s view fades back into darkness.

“We need to get out of here.”

The heart-shock of hearing Chad’s voice behind him has Jared clinging to the heavy drapes. 

“Dude, whoa.”

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Jared says once his voice comes out of hiding.

“Sorry. What the hell were you looking at?”

Jared glances at the empty space on the street. “Nothing. So, why do we need to leave?”

Chad scratches the back of his neck. His collar is half-popped, the top three buttons undone. “Um, I kinda passed out next to Amber, and when her boyfriend woke us up, her hand was over my chest. Guess he thought we were hooking up or something.” Chad looks behind him. “I think they’re sort of fighting right now? But we should definitely go before they stop.”

 _Only Chad,_ Jared thinks. But he agrees on the ‘going’ part. “Can I just crash at your place? It’s closer.” Which is true, and Jared figures that spending the night in a house protected by Grayson instead of one under Sterling’s control is the lesser of two mega-evils.

Chad shrugs. “I told my mom we’d be coming back at some point anyway. Bet she’ll have all the lights on and everything.”

The trip to Chad’s is five minutes of knuckle-clenched silence. Jared finds it hard to breathe around the beating heart lodged in his throat. He’s waiting for crystal-blue headlights to cut across the road and pursue them, but nothing interrupts the metronome-flashes of streetlights along the way. When they pull into the garage under the Murray’s building, they both sigh, but neither lets go of sobering vigilance until they’re upstairs in Chad’s living room.

So begins another year in Richardson.

~~~

Eighteen tiny, flickering flames stand between Jared and adulthood. In towns across the country, turning eighteen means buying a pack of cigarettes (hopefully only once) and feeling less skeevy about downloading porn (unless your name is Chad Murray). In Richardson, these white and blue striped candles with drops of wax running down their skinny columns are all that’s left between Jared and an entire population of vampires. He quickly blows them out before his mom’s smile can fall any further.

The candles don’t really matter; with or without them, Jared’s no longer underage.

“I hope your wish was a good one,” his mom says as his dad cuts generous slices of chocolate cake. He laughs, but doesn’t explain the futility of wishing.

Despite Jared’s sour mood, his birthday takes a turn towards epic when his dad leads him out to the driveway after dessert. There, gleaming black and triumphing over the night, is a car straight out of Jared’s fantasies.

“Holy _shit_.”

His dad laughs. “I thought you’d say something like that.”

“Dad—this. Oh my god! Seriously?”

“Happy Birthday,” his dad says, slapping him on the back.

Jared can’t take his eyes off of the beautiful example of Americana in front of him, a near-fully restored Chevy Impala. “But I thought this was Doug’s project.”

“He obviously bought it in the first place,” his dad says, referring to his old friend and weekend mechanic, “but when I saw how much you loved helping him with it, putting in all that work, I knew it really belonged to you. And Doug agreed with me when I made him an offer.”

The Impala triggers a wash of memories: Jared helping Doug with the easy jobs and hauling equipment like a grunt. He’d never minded, soaking up everything Doug taught him. Jared remembers spending one or two afternoons a week with Doug’s family before high school began taking its toll, but he never forgot about _her_. On the rare occasions when he could make time over the last two years, working on the car had been an escape of sorts.

Jared spends an hour sitting in the Impala, senses overwhelmed with the touch, smell, and feel of her. He wants to take it out, but he’s only been eighteen for a few hours—no sense dangling himself like a worm on a hook.

“I think I’m in love.”

Jared jerks _hard_ , flailing out and hitting the horn. Outside the passenger window, Jensen Ackles is smirking.

“Dammit!” Jared curses, heart thumping against his ribs. “Why the hell do people keep sneaking up on me?”

Jensen looks affronted. “I never sneak around. Maybe you’re hard of hearing.”

“Sure, yeah.” Jared takes deep breaths to quell his panic. His head feels empty, like a black hole from which no coherent thought can be drawn.

Jensen doesn’t seem to notice.

“I had a Firebird back in ’68,” he says, leaning through the open window, “and I got a kick out of that car, but the Impala was something to see.” Pale fingers dance across black paint. “They don’t make cars like this anymore. Shame,” he adds wistfully.

“I didn’t know you liked cars.”

“Life was certainly less convenient before the invention of automobiles.” Jensen smiles, his stab at humor a shallow one reminding Jared that Jensen’s been around for a very long time. “But there are cars, and there are _cars_. I appreciate the distinction.”

“I helped build this one,” Jared tells Jensen, letting his hands shape around the steering wheel. “They guy who bought it let me research parts with him, never cared how many questions I asked.”

“A lot, I’m guessing,” Jensen says softly. “You’ve always seemed extra curious.”

“Never in a million years did I think my parents would give me this,” Jared says, dropping his hands to the bench seat. Cool leather, supple but unyielding—Jared wonders how Jensen’s skin might feel in comparison. “If anything, I figured I’d end up driving my mom’s van until I could afford something decent.”

“Minivans,” Jensen snorts. “Humanity was better off without them.”

The vampire listens patiently from the window while Jared gives him a verbal tour of the Impala, mixing in a selection of stories from the afternoons he spent rebuilding her. Jensen never moves, unaffected by the cold while Jared’s breath fogs in front of his lips. It feels good to talk about the car— _his_ car, holy shit—with someone who’s attentive, interested. His dad didn’t always have the patience and his mom’s eyes glazed over quickly. But Jensen questions, smiles at Jared’s quiet enthusiasm, and nods to show he’s following. 

“I’m glad you’ve had such a memorable birthday,” Jensen eventually says.

Jared locks up at the reminder. He’d honestly forgotten.

“Yeah, uh, it’s been great.”

“I have to confess,” Jensen begins, and fear’s icy fingers tickle Jared’s throat, “I knew you’d be getting the Impala tonight.”

“What?”

Jensen looks up and his green eyes are backlit, vibrant. Utterly unnatural, and yet his expression is hesitant, almost sheepish, which gives new meaning to the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

“Your father told several people. Word traveled,” Jensen explains. He reaches into his jacket, retrieves a thick, business-sized envelope, and hands it across the seat. “Happy birthday, Jared.”

Jared takes it carefully, as if the envelope has jaws, while Jensen stands passively beside the Impala. It could contain anything: information, threats, a protection contract he’ll be forced to sign under duress. Maybe Jensen came here to extort his compliance by endangering his parents.

“Jared?”

“Sorry, I was just, um…” He tears open the unmarked envelope and pulls out a slip of paper. One of many, actually. Jared looks up, confused by the grin on that marble face.

“You can’t trust this car to the auto-washer at the gas station,” Jensen says. “Hoopes, the owner of the hand-wash on Mesa, will take good care of your baby.”

Jared blinks. He’s holding a lifetime’s worth of vouchers for free car washes. There’s nothing to do but laugh, not a small part in relief, which Jensen appears to find totally appropriate.

“I know the last thing you want to do is get out of your car,” Jensen says when Jared’s wiping the last laughter-tears from under his eyes, “but you should head inside. It’s late, and your parents have been watching us from the window for the last forty minutes.”

“Shit! Really?”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I should go, too, but I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

Courtesy, or something more poignant, prompts Jared to say, “Thank you, Jensen. These’ll be great,” he adds, fanning the trove of certificates.

The vampire smiles in lieu of saying anything else. He steps away, lingers until Jared’s heading for the garage door. Then he’s gone. Jared walks into the house where his parents give him thirty seconds of peace before the questions roll out.

A few minutes before his birthday expires, Jared stares up at his bedroom ceiling, wondering about the wish he never made. Five minutes until midnight—Jared could silently wish for a guy to materialize in his life. A _regular_ guy, not someone with solarphobia. But he’ll have lucky green eyes and a smile for Jared that’s different from those he gives out randomly. He’ll love the Impala and happily occupy the other end of her bench seat whenever Jared takes her out on a long drive. No doubt he’ll make Jared laugh, drop everything for him, and make him feel as if his skin’s on fire. In a good way.

Jares stops himself before the wish is uttered. It’s pointless; no one like that exists in Richardson. The guy in his mind might be wearing Jensen’s face right now, but the rest is all wrong. Midnight comes, goes, and Jared’s asleep soon after. What he dreams about will remain his secret.

~~~

The Impala makes Jared’s life easier. No more bumming rides from Chad—no more sitting around at Crowne’s like a loner. There’s no need to rely on someone else (or his parents) for the basics of getting around, and that small amount of freedom brightens his days.

But there’s a phantom presence in the care. Every time the ignition rumbles through him, Jared thinks about Jensen. He holds their conversation on the night of his birthday apart in his mind like a snowglobe, the scene protected from the emotions around it. Jared imagines meeting up with the vampire (or, more realistically, being sneaked up on) and telling him how the Impala’s running. But like most vampires, Jensen’s not exactly out and about all the time; when he doesn’t want to be seen, he won’t be.

A week goes by without word from Jensen, then two. Jared regrets not asking where Ackles disappeared to over the holidays. Or, more relevant, what brought him back. At the time, Jared was happy to keep that sort of discussion under the table. Now he feels adrift, casting out but unable to pull himself in any specific direction.

Just as he’s getting used to Jensen’s absence (and trying to see it as a positive), however, his handsome shadow resurfaces in an unexpected place.

Three weeks after his birthday, Jared’s sitting outside at Sonic, the Impala’s grille shining in his periphery. The sun’s gone down, but the air’s warm for early spring and it’s quiet under the artificial lights. A few of his friends have driven through, but Jared stays put with his chili fries, toaster burger, and milkshake while attempting to finish his German homework.

“And people have problems with what I eat.”

Jared fails to cover his flinch.

“I know I made noise this time,” Jensen says as he sits down across the table. “You just weren’t paying attention to your surroundings.” The vampire seems out of place against Sonic’s gaudy, fluorescent backdrop, the fine cut of his suit (sans tie and with the top two buttons undone down his sky-blue shirt) probably irreparably harmed by the grated metal bench he’s occupying.

“What’s wrong with my dinner?” Jared asks, hurriedly pulling his papers together.

Jensen frowns. “No part of _that_ came naturally from a plant or animal.”

Yeah, Jared’s aware. “But it tastes pretty good.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

The lapse stretches into minutes of easy silence. Jensen draws pages from Jared’s pile of assignments and reads them over. Jared wouldn’t be surprised if Jensen’s fluent in German given the intensity of his perusal and the approval lifting the corners of his mouth when he slides the papers back.

“Where have you been?” Jared asks before his curiosity can be smothered.

“Since the night of your birthday, you mean,” Jensen states. “There were things Albert needed me to see to, and I found myself keeping strange hours. Why?” he asks, attempting to leer. “Have you missed me?”

Jared skips over the question. “What about over Christmas? I didn’t see you for a couple months.” The vampire won’t meet his eyes, causing Jared to speculate. Out loud. “Richardson’s not that big, and you said yourself, you’re not a homebody. No way you developed a sudden case of agoraphobia.” He sees Jensen crack a smile. “So I’m guessing you left town.” 

“Someone…suggested I get out of Richardson for a while,” Jensen confirms, cherry-picking his words.

“Someone?’’

“A friend.”

There’s a word he’s never heard Jensen use. (Jared figured Jensen collected groupies and lackeys in place of friends.)

“What for?”

“Perspective.”

Jared’s snort turns into a laugh. Jensen glances over, eyebrow cocked sternly. “You sound like such a cliché right now,” Jared explains. “You left for _perspective_? Come on, Jensen. Perspective on what? Being the prince of a crappy town in Bumfuck County, Texas?”

“Human behavior,” Jensen says.

The gears are grinding in Jared’s mind, nothing coming together smoothly. “Now that’s creepy. You don’t see me trying to understand things that are below me on the food chain.”

“Jared—”

“And clearly you didn’t learn much because you’re still trying to talk to me like all of this is normal.”

Jensen tries again. “Jared, I didn’t want to talk about this,” he admits, and once he says it, Jared realizes he feels the same way. “But you asked and I was trying to be honest.”

“More like vague,” Jared drawls, leaning away from the table and cracking his spine. Jensen studies him, and Jared tries not to fidget. “Got any more trips planned?”

“Not right now, no,” Jensen says. “The one was enough.”

“Oh, okay.”

This time, the silence unfolds uncomfortably. Jared picks at his food, no longer hungry, while Jensen casually looks around, ignoring one or two apprehensive stares aimed in his direction. The rest of the carhops and customers ignore them.

“Need help with your homework?” Jensen asks. “Ich spreche fließend Deutsch.”

“Nein,” Jared sighs, but Jensen grabs the closest sheet of paper before he can shove everything back into his bag.

Turns out Jensen _is_ fluent (he spent most of the 19th century in Europe, and may or may not have been impersonating royalty for most of it), and after one more milkshake, Jared’s left with a flawless essay. He’ll have to throw in a few mistakes before Monday so his teacher won’t question why one of his B students is turning in A+ work, but he thanks Jensen and earns a clear, genuine smile.

They talk about the Impala and, like they did on Jared’s birthday, steer wide around contentious topics. Questions pile up like a multi-car wreck, but Jared sets them aside. This is better. _Normal_ is better because it’s so rare. Too many conversations leave Jared’s guts in knots, but when Jensen acts this way, the only things Jared needs to worry about are the pleasant dreams he’ll be having regardless of whether he welcomes them or not, inevitably followed by awkward pre-alarm hard-ons.

Jensen makes sure Jared’s on his way home before it gets too late (only after Jared tries multiple times to get Jensen to drink a blue-raspberry Sprite), and as Jared drives away, he catches Jensen wave once in the rearview mirror. Jared’s kind of surprised to find himself grinning.

~~~

“This is a bad idea.”

“What?”

“This is _a terrible idea_!” Jared’s forced to shout in order for Chad to hear him. “I told my parents I was staying at your house!”

“Staying _with_ me,” Chad yells back, “so you go where I go. We’re seriously fine! Grayson owns this place.”

This ‘place’ being _Descent_ , one of the clubs bordering the UTCW campus. Saturday night and it’s packed, throbbing bass wall-to-wall—an exhibition of skin, sweat, and no-holds-barred behavior. Jared’s shirt is sticking to the back of his neck; if he’s already overheated, there’s no way he won’t sweat through his layers in a matter of minutes.

“C’mon!” Chad slaps Jared on the shoulder. “Let’s find Katie.”

Heading down onto the massive dance floor is the last thing Jared wants to do. At least he can see from up here on the main club floor, watch the rippling ocean of bodies rather than drowning in it. Jared’s danced in front of his mirror often enough to know that he’s doing the club a favor by staying where he is.

“You go,” he tells Chad. “I want to grab some water.”

“Be less fun, I dare you!” Chad shouts, already trying to pick out Katie from the crowd. He’d begged Jared to come along tonight—claimed he was _this_ close to sealing the deal with the bubbly blonde, and that it was Jared’s duty as his best friend to play wingman “Come find us when you’re ready to flaunt your ass instead of sitting on it!”

Jared already regrets not staying in the Impala.

It’s hard to tell what _Descent_ would look like without the blinding strobes, neon swirls of light, vibrating surfaces. Probably like any mysteriously stained, non-descript room with chips in the paint and dented metal all over the place. But in the dark, shadows grow and tempt the unsuspecting. This club may not have the same kind of reputation as _Lash_ , Jared would rather stay as far away as possible.

Jared buys a bottle of water, double-checks that it hasn’t been tampered with (you never know). The bartender serving him seems familiar—dark, styled hair, cool blue eyes, lean frame—but it takes Jared a few gulps to place him. Mike? No. Mitch? Something less common…Misha? That’s it, Misha Collins. Older than Jared, he showed up in Richardson when he was a teenager, but he must be out of college now. Jared remembers Misha working in his parents’ computer store during one hot, hazy summer.

Misha sets another bottle of water on the bar, and Jared realizes he’s drained the first. “Take it easy,” Misha says, voice pitched to carry across the bar without screaming, “or I’m gonna have to cut you off after the next one.” He waves away Jared’s money, so he leaves it as a tip, watching Misha sort through another wave of called-out orders.

Jared scans the bar, the area around him devoid of familiar faces. Two-thirds are coeds gearing up for massive hangovers while the rest are a combination of townies, adults letting loose while trying to recreate their glory days, and a scattered handful of well-dressed customers enjoying top shelf liquor while ignoring the chaos around them. Jared’s stomach seizes each time he catches a dazed stare—too muted and glassed over to come from alcohol. 

It’s while tracking one of those stumbling, starry-eyed fangbangers that Jared sees a man watching him from the far end of the packed bar. Tucked into the corner, his gaze is suspiciously focused and intense despite the glass of amber liquid he’s holding. His features are memorable: the pinpoint stare, brown hair long enough to tie back with a few strands brushing across his temples, and a strong-set jaw. Leather bracelets wrap his wrists, plaid shirt setting him apart from the coiffed, carefully-dressed clientele. (Even Jared had worn one of Chad’s nicer black sweaters over his t-shirt and pulled his nicest pair of boots out of the Impala.) But the man’s skin is pale, too much so for a guy who would be perfectly at home on a ranch…

“Shouldn’t you be dancing or making some epic, teenage mistakes?”

Jared turns away from the stranger and looks at Misha. “Not really in the mood tonight. I kinda came as a favor to someone.” He can sense that he’s still being watched and beckons to Misha. “Hey, who’s that guy at the end of the bar? Hard stare, looks like a cowboy.”

Misha isn’t subtle about checking. He looks, draws the man’s attention away from Jared with a smile and a nod. “Him? Trust me, kid. You don’t need to worry about him.”

Jared suspects Misha’s guarding the truth. He’s ninety percent sure that the man is a vampire, one he’s never seen before. The smart thing to do would be to find Chad and get out of here—too many threats and variables—but certain rules protect them in public and Jared _does_ owe Chad a fun night out.

“If he’s bothering you, I’ll tell him to keep his eyes on his own paper.”

“It’s fine,” Jared says. “I should go find my friends anyway.”

Misha smiles. “Well then, get out of here. You’re taking up valuable real estate!”

He’s right. As soon as Jared turns around, a dozen people are pressing forward to claim his barstool. Twisting through the crowd, Jared feels only mildly violated, grateful to find an unoccupied stretch of railing where he can catch his breath.

In his jeans, his phone vibrates with an incoming text.

_I hope Mr. Collins didn’t serve you anything strange._

Jared glances around. At the bar, Misha’s leaning towards the cowboy, but neither man has his phone out. Rechecking, Jared doesn’t recognize the phone number the message came from.

His phone vibrates in his hand. _You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself._

His pulse kicks up a notch, matching the bass being pumped throughout the club, and he’s got his phone locked in a grip so crushing, he’s surprised it’s still in one piece.

Less than a minute later, another text comes through.

_There’s no reason to be nervous. I’m right behind you. Against the wall._

Jared’s mind can’t process the first part of that text; he’s fixated on the second. He tells himself to turn around, but his feet stall for time. Better to know, he thinks, and turns.

Jensen slips out of the shadows, spritely eyes capturing the neon green around him. While he has Jared’s attention, he brings his phone up and types a quick message. Jared’s phone shakes three seconds later.

_At least I didn’t sneak up on you._

Jensen appears to be alone, but Jared checks around before approaching. “So, you came up with this idea and thought, ‘hey, this’ll be way less creepy.’”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Jensen asks, dropping his phone into his pocket. His dark jeans hug his legs intimately from knee to hip, and Jared’s almost ashamed of the way he studies the ridge and valley between Jensen’s legs when the lights wash over them, hoping the dizzying play of neon hides his red face.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I wasn’t until a few minutes ago,” Jensen tells him. The amusement in his voice flat-lines when he adds, “you shouldn’t be here by yourself.”

“I’m not,” Jared defends, “but Chad went to find Katie and I just wanted…wait.” He rewinds their conversation. “Did you show up here because of me? How did you know I was even here?”

“Does it matter?”

Jared isn’t going to let him evade the question. He brings his body closer, pushing Jensen further into the shadows.

“ _Yes_.”

Jensen’s eyes widen as Jared shifts their position, something in his expression coming alive. “My friend noticed you at the bar by yourself. He called me—thought I might be interested in knowing you were here.”

Jared fights against the instinct to shirk away. “Why?” he asks for what feels like the one hundredth time since meeting Jensen. If the question affects him though, there are no signs.

Jared’s brain leaps to more than one conclusion. He’s certain the man who’d been tracking him at the bar is the vamp who tipped Jensen off. And assuming that, it means Jared and Jensen’s encounters are no longer a secret. But the motives behind Jensen’s predacious behavior continue to elude him.

Maybe it’s time to switch tactics. 

It’s been hard to miss the liquid warmth in Jensen’s eyes when he watches Jared, and Jared’s come to terms with his own attraction towards the Founder’s son. But the fact that he’s a _fang_ has always been a serious roadblock. For the first time, Jared wants to ignore that—make things _simple_. Lean into Jensen for cool relief from the dense, humid air that fills the club.

Jared’s body interprets that hypothetical as a command; he moves towards Jensen. Driven by the beat, his hips sway unconsciously, the swing and roll drawing Jensen’s attention. His dark gaze drops, entranced, to Jared’s waist, one while incisor cutting into his bottom lip.

“Jared”—Jensen’s voice exhibits signs of strain—“we should go.”

But that’s not an option. The spell binding them would break and tonight may be the only time Jared’s capable of caving in to his subconscious to find answers. Pulse-pounding music in his ears, hormones wreaking havoc in his bloodstream, and Jensen’s magnetism…Jared’s having a hard time remembering he’s supposed to be fighting this.

Hesitant, scenting Jared’s unrest, Jensen frames Jared’s waist with his hands, fingers tightening as Jared leans in. They’re the exact same height—Jared hadn’t noticed before—and when he dips his head it leaves his mouth inches from Jensen’s bare throat, lips beginning to tingle. A little closer and he would be able to taste Jensen’s skin.

Except that Jensen suddenly pushes Jared away. Rejection feels like an icicle stabbed through his heart. Confused, he searches for answers in Jensen’s eyes, but finds cold obsidian in place of warm jade, Jensen’s focus drawn over Jared’s shoulder.

“So…” a heavy, female voice threatens to curl Jared’s spine, “this is the human who’s been rotting your fangs.”

Jared nearly trips, Jensen pulling him around to stand against the wall, grateful for the steadying hand on his arm. The woman facing them is severe in a number of ways, from her bold, precise makeup and rail-straight mahogany hair, to the cobalt blue fabric painted on her slender shoulders and non-existent hips. Jared recognizes Lyssa Sterling instantly, wishing he didn’t.

“My friends are none of your concern, Lyssa,” Jensen says. His stance has barely changed, only the steel in his eyes betraying his emotion.

“I was curious,” Lyssa says, strolling towards them. Customers slink out of her path. “I’ve barely seen you and when I heard the rumors about your _young_ friend, I needed to check for myself. So _much_ to see, isn’t there?” she adds, leering. “Do you have a name?”

Jared’s surprised his tongue still works. “I only give it out on a need-to-know basis.” Jensen squeezes his arm.

Lyssa sneers, eyes gleaming. It’s hard to tell what color they are under the rain of lights—all he sees is a red flash. “Charming. Has Jensen been taking care of you? Playing the perfect gentleman, I’d imagine.”

“Actually he’s been creepy and inconsiderate,” Jared says, no idea where the words come from—perhaps courage channeled through Jensen where they’re touching. Otherwise, facing one of the Sterlings would terrify him into silence.

“You’re a challenge,” she says, as if it’s just dawned on her. She focuses on Jensen. “I understand. Those are the most rewarding. It’s been a long time since anyone resisted you, hasn’t it, Jensen?”

Jensen’s ignores her taunts. “You want to waste time reminiscing? Go find someone else.”

Lyssa considers the crowd. “You expect me to entertain myself with Grayson’s flock? He’s all about money—no substance. Although, I think one of my brother’s supple young things is out there dancing. She may be underage, but then you wouldn’t begrudge me a taste of something so—”

“Stay away from Katie!”

Lyssa’s smile is deadlier than a cobra as she fixes her eyes on Jared. By now, Jensen’s grip is cutting off circulation below his elbow, preventing him from storming forward.

“Not just a pretty face then is he, Jensen?” Enduring Lyssa’s scrutiny feels like being raked over hot coals. “You know, you _do_ look familiar,” she says. “Your family owns the computer store, right?”

Instead of fighting Jensen’s hold, Jared sinks into it.

“Play your games somewhere else, Lyssa. I’m sure Victor doesn’t want you at one of his clubs.”

“No one stopped me,” Lyssa says, keeping Jared in her sights. “I think I know who your parents are. Stubborn, independent…unclaimed. Offers have been made in the past, but…is that what this is about?” she muses, arching her neck. “Are you looking to make Jensen your Patron?”

“I don’t want protection.”

“That’s the thing about Jensen,” Lyssa chides. “He’ll find a way to _make_ you want it. Our founding son doesn’t craft deals for money or power—Jensen likes to be needed. The gentleman, the savior. The devil dressed as a prince. Is that the kind of Patron you want?” she asks, scenting blood in the water. “I could make you a much more attractive offer.”

“Enough!” Jensen’s voice booms, drowns out the music for a split-second. Everyone in the club pauses but easily shakes off the disturbance. Lyssa, however, looks stunned, like an animal jerked back at the end of its rope. That’s exactly what she is, Jared thinks. With the way Jensen acts around him, it’s been easy for Jared to forget that he’s powerful—the first son of Richardson. To other vampires, his status is near royalty. Far from being intimidated by Lyssa, Jensen’s reminding her of her place.

And Jared would fully appreciate all of that if he wasn’t replaying everything Lyssa implied. He has no reason to trust her, but the same holds true for Jensen. Tonight, Jared made it obvious he was physically attracted to Jensen—maybe that was part of the plan. Jensen could use Jared’s feelings to elicit a deal in his favor. Worse, he might expect Jared to _act_ on his feelings in exchange for his safety. Or that of his parents. Lyssa hadn’t hesitated to bring them into the discussion, exposing another of Jared’s weaknesses.

Pressure builds behind Jared’s eyes. The lights, the music, the vampires—all crowding in to cause a massive headache.

“Jared?”

He looks up. Lyssa has vanished and Jensen in bringing his other hand up to Jared’s face. He flinches.

Jensen drops his hand. “Let’s go,” he says. For a moment, Jared allows himself to be steered away from the wall by Jensen’s hold on his arm. When he realizes…

“No, stop,” he says, jerking free. “I can’t leave.”

“I’m sure Lyssa’s still around—”

“And so are my friends.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“I’m Chad’s ride,” Jared insists, putting some distance between them. “If you don’t think it’s safe for me, what about Chad and Katie?”

Jensen sighs. “They’re both protected. You’re not.”

Jared freezes. Backed between the railing and a sticky cocktail table, he’s cornered with Jensen only steps away. “Is that what this is about?”

“Jared—”

“Did you come here to show me how vulnerable I am?” Jared scoffs, exasperated. “I can’t believe you, Jensen. Nice touch, though, getting Lyssa to threaten me right in front of you. That way you could step in and save my skin, get me to agree to anything, right?”

“Jared—”

“Stop saying my name!” he shouts, though it barely registers with the people around them. “God, Jensen. Just stop. I’m not interested in your Protection. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been taking care of myself for years, way before you started showing up everywhere I went.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” Jensen refutes.

“As soon as you heard I was here, _by myself_ , you came running. I bet you saw it as the perfect chance to play out your little scenario.”

“I wanted to see you!” Jensen shouts, the façade finally cracking. He steps further into Jared’s space, but Jared is well beyond his tolerance for the night.

“You’ve seen me,” Jared cuts off anything else Jensen might say, “and now I’m leaving.”

“You said—”

“I’m getting Chad and we’re leaving.”

“Stay,” Jensen petitions. “Stay here for a little longer. I won’t bother you.”

“Sorry,” Jared says, “you don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not my Patron, and I’m _not_ your property.” With his frustration mounting, the rotating red lights seep into his vision. Everything around him is covered in it: the dancers, the bar, Jensen. Pale skin dyed crimson. Jared blinks but it’s all still there. “Goodbye, Jensen.”

The prickle between his shoulder blades means Jensen is watching him step out onto the dance floor where he finds Katie and Chad in the middle of an argument. It’s a small favor; their fight means Chad is more than ready to leave, ranting wildly about ‘mixed signals’ as he follows Jared to the parking lot. Jared barely listens, but the one-sided conversation distracts him all the way to Chad’s place.

Chad finally asks about Jared’s night when they’re bunked down—Chad in his bed and Jared contorting his limbs on the futon—but he can’t find the words. He mentions seeing Misha at the bar, but the name doesn’t mean anything to Chad. Beyond that, Jared lets Chad assume his night was as boring as predicted, no mention of the three vampires he’d crossed paths with. 

He doubts Chad would believe him anyway.

**PART THREE.**

Jared’s plan not to think about Jensen fails miserably. He spends Sunday afternoon shopping for dorm supplies with his mom—if he’s forced to attend UTCW, he’s not living at home—further fanning the anger he’s been tending since the night before. Monday, Jared spaces out in Calculus, missing an entire concept while he obsesses over Jensen’s next move.

He expects to meet green eyes somewhere along the crowded sidewalk between the pizza joint and the computer store on Tuesday night, constantly checks the Impala’s rearview for Jensen’s jet-black sedan, but never catches so much as a flash.

Five days after their altercation in the club, Jensen finally makes a move. What he does changes the board entirely.

Jared walks into his house on Thursday night, tired from after-school meetings and a Calculus study group session (that he clearly needed), and finds his parents sitting at the dining room table. Not unusual, but the silence is too convenient, and Jared can’t smell dinner. His mom is staring across the table as if she’s barely holding herself back from running over.

“Hey,” Jared says, “did I forget a special occasion or something?” His dad studies the hardwood between his feet; his mom’s hands are trembling. “Did someone call the house? Because seriously, I’m fine—it was probably a mistake.”

“No one called us,” his dad says. “But, Jared, you should have told us.”

Jared’s coming up blank. “You mean about my English paper? It was a rough week, but we get to drop—”

“About your friendship with Jensen Ackles.”

“Jensen Ackles?” He hesitates. “I guess you could say I know him. Where’d you hear about that?”

“He was here.”

“What?” Jared’s thrown into motion. He drops his bag and rushes up to the table. “Are you okay? Did he—”

“We’re fine,” his dad assures. “He just wanted to talk to us.”

“Talking”—Jared huffs—“that sounds like Jensen.” Taking his usual seat by the window, he asks, “So what did he tell you?”

His dad draws his elbows up, sets them on the table. The illusion is all there, as if this is an ordinary family meeting. Not one concerning meddling vampires and the young men who compel them (for some reason).

“He told us you were becoming friends.”

Jared shrugs. “Not really.”

“Jared,” his mom speaks up, “he seemed…nice. Different than we expected. Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“Maybe because he’s a _vampire_ ,” Jared mutters. “He’s been around for a few months, it’s not a big deal.” He tells the lie but knows he’s kidding himself. “What I don’t get is why he came to see you guys. He would’ve known I wasn’t here.” His parents don’t need to know that Jensen’s familiar with his schedule, but they’re too preoccupied to pick up on it.

“Well, he wanted to talk about you, your plans for the fall. Things like that.”

“He knows what I’m doing. What else?”

“Bear in mind that we only talked, Jared,” his dad says. “Nothing was settled on. We needed to discuss it with you first.”

His mom takes over. “Jensen came to us with a very interesting proposal, and since you’re set on moving out in the fall, you should hear him out.”

Jared works his jaw, he’s having a hard time getting the right sounds to come out of his mouth. “He…he came here to _buy_ me?” he sputters. “How could you stand to listen to him? Protection is a bunch of crap! You’ve always told me how unfair the deals are.”

“He’s not asking for much in return.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jared fumes. “So what _is_ he asking for?”

By now, Jared’s parents look extremely discomfited, shifting eyes and fidgeting fingers. The question hangs until Jared’s mom says, “Jensen told us those details were between the two of you. Jared,” she probes, “if there’s something you want to tell us about Jensen…”

“Yeah, to remind you that he’s a vampire! And not just any vampire, he’s the Founder’s son! I mean, what”—some of the spite drains out of him—“what does he want with me? I’m no one.”

Concern fills his mom’s eyes as she reaches for Jared’s hand across the table. “You’ll be living on campus in the fall. We want you to be safe.”

“By trusting a vampire like Jensen? I barely know him, and besides, you’ve never accepted anyone’s Protection before. Why are you considering it now?”

“It’s not for us,” his dad says, “but it could help you, Jared. We realize you’ve had a rough time growing up here, and maybe part of that is our fault for never accepting a deal.”

“So you think being sold out to a vampire is going to make my life better?”

“You’re eighteen, Jared. We can’t make this decision for you. If you don’t want to take Jensen up on his offer, don’t. But you should talk to him first.”

Jared wants to fire back, tell his parents they have no idea what they’re asking, but instead he gives them the impression he’s thinking seriously. His dad’s expression has gone flat while his mom can’t fix on one emotion, mollified and terrified in turns. As for what he should be feeling, Jared can’t settle either. Still angry with Jensen’s manipulations, he wants to be as disgusted as he’s pretending to be. But considering the times when Jensen does exactly what Jared asks, maybe the power can be balanced between them. There’s no precedent he’s aware of for a deal built on equal terms…he and Jensen could be the exceptions.

“I need to find Jensen,” he says, surprising everyone. Once it’s out, he realizes it’s true; Jensen’s the only one with answers, and Jared needs to see him, not hear secondhand information. “I’m going out.”

His mom objects. “It’s getting late. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“You want me under Jensen’s protection, but you won’t let me go talk to him?”

Not receiving a response, Jared leaves. The Impala’s still warm where he slides his palm across the hood. He has no idea where to find Jensen, but he has a feeling it won’t matter. Jensen’s demonstrated a sixth sense where Jared’s concerned; the vampire will find him.

It takes longer than he expects. With no specific destination in mind, Jared ends up in the high school parking lot letting the Impala idle while he’s stuck inside his thoughts. His iron’s red-hot imagining that Jensen meant to work him into this position from the beginning: play at friendship and decency until Jared trusted him, offer protection like it’s no big deal, and reassure Jared that nothing between them would change.

But something _has_ changed. Jared feels it even though he can’t identify it. He can trace the shift back to _Descent_ , though the last thing he wants to do is indulge himself by revisiting that night, the way his body rode herd over his common sense. He’d nearly caved…

A sedan pulls into the lot. At least in a car, Jensen can’t sneak up on him.

Jensen parks alongside the Impala. Jared steps out and meets him around by the hood. “Who tattled on me this time?”

“No one,” Jensen says, “I was watching your house.”

“I don’t know whether admitting that makes you more or less of a stalker.”

Jensen slouches against the car, looking tired. Looking human. “I knew what I told your parents would upset you.”

The asphalt bears the brunt of Jared’s emotion as he scatters black crumbles with his feet, in no hurry to break the silence. He knows that Jensen’s watching him closely, not sure what his body language reveals. Strangely, he doesn’t mind being out here, exposed, in the dark with this vampire, knowing Jensen would protect him. But that doesn’t mean Jensen has his best interests in mind.

“Don’t you want protection?” Jensen asks. The jacket he’s wearing is tight across his shoulders. Jared wonders how the cold leather would feel if he reached over, but now is hardly the time for pleasant distractions.

“Isn’t life hard enough?” he adds.

Jared thinks for a moment before saying, “I’d rather live somewhere I don’t need it.”

“There are advantages. You wouldn’t have to worry about money,” Jensen argues, “and you could have any job you wanted when you graduate.”

Jared scoffs and sends a chunk of asphalt skipping across the lot. “If you know me so well, you know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“What about safety?” Jensen proposes. “You’d never feel threatened.”

“Offering safety on one hand while requiring bodily harm on the other is, like, totally hypocritical,” Jared’s quick to point out. “And every single deal I know about is based on it. Like, ‘here, I’ll keep others away from your blood, but you’ve got to let me take it instead.’”

If Jensen’s alarmed by Jared’s bluntness, it hardly shows. His expression is granite, eyes placid pools of green.

“That type of arrangement suits most people. Many…enjoy the benefits.”

“Keep the willing ones, then.” Jared pushes away from the Impala. “Let the rest of us go.”

“Jared—” The vampire takes one step, but pulls up at Jared’s rigid posture. “I actually thought you’d be interested in my proposal.”

That’s when Jared realizes he hasn’t heard it yet. He’s afraid to ask, scared that the answer might cement Jensen’s betrayal, but more worried he’ll want to agree with the terms Jensen outlines. Either way, Jared won’t win this round.

“Do you proposition everybody like this?” he redirects.

“You’ll be the first,” Jensen says.

“First one you’ve made this kind of effort for?”

Jensen shakes his head. “My first time as a Patron.”

Jared’s at a loss. How could Jensen not have protection arrangements with anyone? Granted, he doesn’t need them; Jensen’s skilled at getting what he wants, evidenced by the stable of fangbangers he’d kept before. Although, when Jared thinks back, he hasn’t seen Jensen _with_ anyone since the town council meeting. He’s either hidden his sanguinary activities or gone cold turkey.

“Oh,” is all Jared can say.

“Tell me something, Jared.” Jensen crosses his arms. “Did you what Lyssa told you that night?”

“I’m not really sure.” Honesty _is_ the best policy, right? “It’s not like I have a lot to go on.”

“Go with your instincts.”

“Now I’m really not sure,” Jared admits. “I’m all over the place lately. Seems to me like Lyssa knows you pretty well.”

“Less than she likes to think.”

“I don’t want to believe you’d con me like that, or that I was gullible enough to fall for the act.”

“I’m a terrible actor.”

Jared grins, ruining Jensen’s poker face. “Yeah, somehow I doubt that,” he says. If he’s somehow earned the _real_ Jensen, then the vampire is putting on quite a show for the rest of Richardson. Human and otherwise. “Besides, if you’re only in this for a challenge, you’re wasting your time. I’m not much of a payoff.”

He loses Jensen to a middle-distance stare, eyes soft and expression unrevealing. There are no rocks left to kick so Jared scuffs his shoes on the asphalt, the _scritch_ and crumble loud in the otherwise silent evening.

Finally, Jensen says, “You’re not a simply a challenge for me, Jared. Not to say that parts of our…relationship haven’t proven _challenging_.” He pauses, possibly to soak in Jared’s smile. “And you’re certainly not a trophy that I’m trying to win.”

“So what am I then?”

“I’m really not sure,” Jensen kindly mocks Jared with his own words, “but I know that you’re worth it.”

“God,” Jared huffs, eyes tracing shapes between the stars. The pictures he comes up with are odd, messy, without a way to connect the sparkling dots. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do right now. This…this is crazier than anything I could’ve come up with. I thought, if any vampire ever offered me a deal, I’d throw it right back in their face. Probably punch them, too.” He looks at Jensen and the picture becomes clearer. “I thought I was going to hate you—I _did_ hate you—but that was before I met you. The real you, not the vampire I found in there,” he adds, gesturing back to the high school where he’d seen Jensen with the red-haired woman. “Now things are way more messed up.”

“Maybe you should let me explain what I want from you.”

“I don’t know if I want to hear it,” Jared confesses, sandbagging the wall in his mind against the anger beginning to crest. If there were no deals, no Patrons and no protection, he and Jensen could talk like two regular guys feeling the stirrings of attraction. Jared doesn’t doubt it’s there, but with their cultures forming an imposing hurdle between them, true motivations—true feelings—become obscured. He can’t know what Jensen’s sincerely thinking because Richardson only provides one model for a relationship between a human and a vampire.

And it’s not the one Jared wants.

“You’ve gotta let me think, Jensen,” Jared appeals. “I need some time. But not, like, time alone.” Jensen meets his stare, doesn’t break away as Jared moves to sit beside him again on the Impala’s hood. “Could we maybe make plans to meet up next week?”

“No more surprises?” Jensen asks.

“You could show up first and I could surprise you,” Jared offers, nudging Jensen’s shoulder. He waits for his stomach to freeze up at the contact, but he feels strangely loose. “We can see how that goes.”

Jensen agrees and after working through a handful of scheduling conflicts—school and family responsibilities for Jared, classified fang-business for Jensen—they agree on Tuesday night.

“You won’t mind watching me eat?” Jared asks once they decide on dinner, location to be determined. 

Jensen says nothing, but he winks and slips sideways off the Impala. The moon has risen, painting Jensen’s pale complexion starlight-blue.

“Let me know where you want to go,” Jensen says, standing beside his souped-up sedan. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

Jensen drives away, out of sight but not out of mind, and definitely not gone; Jared’s positive he’s circling the school, no doubt waiting to tail the Impala back to Jared’s house. Knowing that, Jared remains in the empty lot longer than he should, picking the brightest stars out of the black canvas and tossing a wish to each one.

He figures it can’t hurt.

~~~

On Friday, Chad asks Jared, “what’s your problem?” no less than a dozen times. Katie’s not talking to Chad—not talking to anyone really, Jared notes—so the full force of his personality is aimed at Jared. And when Jared’s mind is too far afield to respond quickly, too occupied to laugh at jokes he’s heard before, Chad pouts before popping Jared with his elbow or kicking him in the shins. By the end of the day, Jared’s a mottled mess of developing bruises, but he laughs and promises Chad a guys’ night.

Jared’s parents rope him into a full shift at the computer store on Saturday. Later, he keeps his promise to Chad; they go to bed sugar-drunk on soda and pop-tarts, half-blind after multiple rounds of Mario Karts.

Sunday is for sleeping in, Jared’s mom’s cinnamon-pecan pancakes and, after Chad finally wanders back to his place, homework. It’s been two days since Jared’s parking lot rendezvous with Jensen and he’s no closer to making a decision. If anything, he’s tied himself into a bigger knot, but he is eager to see Jensen again. He thinks about calling Jensen, but hesitates, unsure of the message he’d be sending.

And then on Monday, Katie doesn’t show up for school.

Chad mopes, but Jared is worried; Katie swans her free-wheeling reputation, but she’s never missed a day. Jared texts her several times, stares at a frustratingly blank screen until lunch when Chad hustles up to him outside the cafeteria, all wide-eyes and wild arms, jabbering too rapidly for Jared to discern a point. They’re alone in the hallway, noises and voices shut behind double doors, when Chad catches his breath and sledgehammers Jared’s reality.

“They’re saying the Cassidys are gone.”

Jared gasps. “What? Who’s saying that?”

Chad heard it from Declan who heard it from his brother, an officer in the Richardson P.D. A lot of ears to play telephone through, but they—people in this town who _know_ —never mess around with this brand of information.

“Declan said his brother and a bunch of cops were called out to the house…” Chad draws a hollow breath. “By Katie.”

Jared shakes his head, clearing the debris. “So Katie’s okay?”

“I…” Chad has no idea what to do with his hands; they flick and fidget at his sides. “I don’t know. Declan only told me—I mean, he didn’t hear much.”

“Okay, we’ll just—” But Jared doesn’t know what comes next. The tremors start at his ankles, body draining strength into his core, and soon he’s shaking all over.

Afternoon classes are a blur. Jared trades worried looks with a dozen other students while the majority remain in the dark—it’s not like one missing student is going to make headlines. They’re all working off the same rumors, spinning themselves into circles. After their last class, Chad meets Jared by the Impala and they drive to the Crowne’s. Victor Grayson’s not there, which is hardly a surprise, but Chad’s boss-slash-Patron could have provided clues. Chad stays to work his shift and Jared considers hanging around, but a phone call from his dad changes his mind.

Tuesday night, Jared keeps his meeting with Jensen.

He’s not sure the vampire’s going to show now that everything’s gone pear-shaped—they haven’t spoken since Thursday night, but Jared had tried calling. Twice he was dumped into an automated voicemail. After that, he thumbed out a text, short and to the point: _McPhee’s. 8 pm._

Jared gets there early. He’s expecting the dive to be busy—part of his plan to meet Jensen in public—but there’s a folk-rock duo taking the stage at nine and the place is stocked with pre-partiers. Jared pushes through to the bar, where one of the bartenders challenges him with a stare that says he’d better not try to order liquor, spying a familiar figure cut from leather and top-shelf denim.

Jensen hasn’t stood him up.

The bartender is pouring Jensen a fifteen dollar glass of scotch from a bottle rarely used at McPhee’s. She adds a soda and pushes it towards Jared.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming. You never texted back.”

Jensen turns in his seat, face washed of all expression. “I told you last week that I’d go wherever you chose.”

“Didn’t know it’d be so busy here,” Jared says as he’s jostled forward by a surging crowd.

Jensen crooks his head and stands. Jared follows him around the bar to a staircase stacked with people jockeying for the best view of the stage. They shoulder past, wind up at another door leading to the balcony, no doubt a popular spot on warmer nights. Jared’s glad he wore a jacket as Jensen leads him outside.

A few days ago, being alone with Jensen wouldn’t make Jared’s nerves sweat. But things change.

The balcony’s empty, its plank floor vibrating from the acoustics of the opening act downstairs. Walking in Jensen’s footsteps, Jared approaches the railing, unimpressed with McPhee’s view of Richardson’s bland warehouse district. He waits for the vampire to say something, throw words at the wreckage of Jared’s normal life, but Jensen’s quiet as death. It’s on Jared’s shoulders then.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” he asks.

Jensen consults the darkness around him, reading shadows. “You already have the necessary information.”

“I don’t know _shit_ ,” Jared curses, rage strong enough that he could rip the railing away and joust with it. “I’ve got rumors and second-hand stories, and all of that’s useless, I’m sure you know.”

“There’s nothing I can tell you—”

“Dammit, Jensen! You can tell me why my parents are saying that the Cassidys are probably dead, and that it has everything to do with vampires!” His accusation echoes off concrete and metal, bounces back and hits Jensen with little effect. “Explain that.”

“I have nothing to do with that family,” Jensen begins, pausing when he catches the venom in Jared’s eyes. “Whatever business they had with my _kind_ , I wasn’t involved.”

“Such bullshit.” The railing creaks under Jared’s grip. “You’re an _Ackles_ —you’re connected to everything.”

“That’s your assumption.”

“You’ve never showed me any differently!” Jared has struck a blow, a twinge of hurt marring Jensen’s features. “Tell me the truth and I’ll listen to you,” he pleads, “I deserve to know.”

Jensen fights with himself, the shadows reaching out to pull him back into black. Jared’s prepared to offer a hand, help draw him out of it, but only if Jensen earns it.

“The Cassidys,” Jensen says, voice raked over hot coals, “thought they could act without consequences.”

Jared stares. “That sounds like something you had to rehearse. Who fed you that line?”

“No one, Jared.” Jensen’s eyes darken, pupils clawing out to obscure his irises. “You wanted the truth. This is…a translation of it.”

“This is exactly what I _didn’t_ want,” Jared seethes. “You, acting like every other fang I’ve ever met.”

Jensen refrains from physically reacting to the pejorative Jared stabs him with. “You have an extremely low opinion of my kind.”

A laugh, dull and grated. “I’ve never known anything else. I’ve been punished my entire life for the crime of being born here.” He assaults Jensen with every repressed conviction, some hurled out while others stick like phlegm in his throat. “I can’t _live_ the life I want—I can’t even fucking leave for college, Jensen! I’ve been threatened, controlled, treated like god damn property, yet here you are, upset because I have a ‘low opinion’ of vampires.”

“Jared—” But he smacks Jensen’s proffered hand away, needs to keep out of reach for his remaining sanity. “I’ve only tried to help you.”

“How?” Jared’s ready to beg, shame himself and plead for Jensen to shake him out of this nightmare. “You dangled friendship in front of my face, and I thought you could be different, but you’re not.”

“What do you want?”

Jared’s appalled that Jensen can be so calm; he’s carved ice, unmeltable even though this is Texas. “Answers,” he says. “Tell me why we’re prisoners here. What gives you the right to act like wardens?”

“We can’t have word of our existence spreading.”

Jared scoffs, humor diluted by misery. “Dracula? Lestat? Freaking Twilight! Everyone knows about vampires, Jensen.”

“Literary fantasy,” Jensen tells him. “Do you really believe I’m some undead, supernatural being? Is that what science and logic tells you?”

Baffled, Jared shrugs, a weak gesture in the wake of such a potent question. In all his years, he’d never asked himself what Jensen and his kind really were, just assumed they were one and the same as the vampires of fiction and lore.

Feeble, Jared asks, “Then what are you?”

Jensen hesitates. Jared prays for those green eyes to soften, keep the promise he’d made to Jared and let him in. Restore Jared’s faith in his own life. But the rational matter in his brain recognizes that the vampire in front of him is unlike the one he’d considered binding his survival to. Closed off, calculating, unfeeling. Regret swirls, nauseates, as Jared understands that _this_ is Jensen’s true face; the rest a carefully scripted act. And Jared nearly fell for it. Jensen’s next words are nails in the coffin Jensen will never see.

“I’ve already given you too much.”

“Fine.” Jared hardens himself. He’d come to McPhee’s hoping for so much. Now he’s lost everything. Pressure builds between his eyes, grief and anger clawing and thrashing at one another to dominate. But fear, dragging desperation behind it, sneaks through in the chaos. “You _really_ want to help me, Jensen?” he asks. “Then make me forget everything. Can you do that?” Jared advances. “Bite me, compel me, and put me in some fang coma-trace. Whatever— I don’t care.”

“You—” Jensen’s breathless. Wonders never cease. “You believe I have that kind of power?”

“You have to,” Jared implores. “How else could you turn Richardson into your own sick, vampire-Chuck E. Cheese? Everything’s a game and we’re the fucking buffet! But if you can make me forget all that, maybe my life’ll be worth something. Maybe you’ll let me leave just like the people who have no clue about you.” Rolling now, desperately falling all over his self-respect. “I won’t be a threat because I won’t remember anything! Please, Jensen…”

Jared used to daydream about what killing a vampire would feel like. No clue how to do it, of course, but if he ever managed, he’d imagine the unlucky bastard’s face would mirror Jensen’s right now. Utter shock, breath sucked in but never released, eyes dying more with every second. He’s just stabbed Jensen through the heart with a weapon he never knew he possessed. 

Jensen gathers himself. “You would do that to your family?”

Jared refuses to think about that aspect. They match stares; Jared’s close to tears, exhausted and hung out to dry. The music seems so far away, tension dampening sound and sensation.

Jensen’s composure shatters. “No.” He shakes his head. “God no, Jared. I can’t. You’d hate me.”

Jared means to say that he already does, but one wound is all he’s capable of inflicting tonight.

“I tried to do things differently,” Jensen continues, low and contemplative. As if he’s speaking to himself. “I knew you wouldn’t—couldn’t accept me if…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point.” Jared wants to scream out that it’s the _only_ thing that matters. “I wish I could make you forget this conversation,” Jensen eventually says. “I don’t think it’s something you’ll want to remember. But I can’t, and I’m sorry.

“But I will find out what happened to Katie’s parents. I swear, Jared, I’ll tell you what I find, but I need time. Time alone,” he tacks on before Jared can ask. “We could both use that.”

Jared doesn’t know how to respond. Despite the pedestrian view beyond the balcony, Jared’s eyes are pulled back to it, double-checking shadows, something sinister in even the smallest movements. 

“You’re right,” he says, turning around, “but I—”

The balcony’s empty, Jensen pulled back into the night’s embrace. Their time alone starts now.

~~~

Jared wanted his life to change. In certain ways, it does.

At home, his parents steer around any topic bordering on vampires or the Cassidys, and talking about Jensen Ackles is totally off-limits. Things are awkward for a few days, edges beginning to fray. A week after McPhee’s, Jared snaps when his mom and dad refuse to acknowledge everything that’s happened.

“Are you just gonna act like things are fine?” he detonates over chicken enchiladas. His mom jerks her hand away from her glass, knocks over the bowl of salsa. White placemats soak up the red. “As if Jensen never happened?”

“Jared,” his dad admonishes while his mom wastes a pile of napkins on the mess in front of her, “this isn’t appropriate right now.”

“Last week you were practically throwing me at a vampire! You told me that I’d be safer when I went to college.”

Jared’s mom chokes on a sob, and then says, “I think you need to consider staying at home for a few semesters. Until we know—”

“I know more about what’s going on in this town than either of you,” Jared’s hurries to point out, “but you refuse to listen.” He’s desperate for them to know, understand how twisted things have become. The knowledge is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than ignorance. But his parents don’t concede that night. Or the next. After that, Jared gives up and keeps his trials to himself.

Since his parents are as receptive as rocks, Jared turns to Chad, but his best friend’s sour mood is tougher to break than he’s expecting. Chad misses Katie—they both do—his distress manifesting emotionally and physically. Raccoon-eyed and depressed, Chad erupts in volatile bursts that fade quickly. At school, Chad’s vacant, running on auto-pilot

Thinking information might snap Chad out of his funk, Jared shares pieces of what Jensen told him at McPhee’s. He keeps the more intimate details out, deliberately vague about their relationship, but tells Chad that Katie’s family had somehow violated their protection. He doesn’t know how, but it was enough for the Sterlings—Alex or Lyssa or both—to move against them. Either way, or wherever they’ve gone, Katie’s parents are beyond human help. 

But instead of reinforcing their friendship, the information puts a distance between Jared and Chad that hasn’t existed since the epic tree-house battle of fourth grade. He looks at Jared differently, avoids him at school, and Jared wracks his brain for an explanation for why his best friend’s not _pissed off_ , ready to fight.

Knowing Chad’s schedule, Jared confronts him at Crowne’s after nearly a week of dodged glances and unreturned calls and texts. Chad’s response to Jared’s confusion is heartbreaking.

“Look, Jared,” Chad says, hovering over the table, “I tried, okay? I asked my parents about the contract thing. I even went to Victor,” he admits with a tremor. “My Patron made it very clear that I needed to keep my mouth shut and”—Chad sighs—“ _reexamine_ my priorities.” Jared hears the threat wrapped in pretty words. “Along with the people in my life.”

Jared looks up. “Chad…”

“I can’t,” Chad hisses. “I barely know what I’m supposed to do right now. I can’t be involved with you. Not while you’re so wrapped up in Jensen-fucking-Ackles. Fangs don’t act like that, Jared! They don’t just give out information for free. There’s always a price, you know that!”

“I still think Jensen’s different.”

“Maybe he’s setting you up. He wants to see how far you’ll run with all this before he stomps you out.”

“Jensen wouldn’t do that,” Jared says without enough conviction.

“How the hell would you know?”

“I just do, okay?”

“Whatever,” Chad blows him off. “Just stay outta here for a little while, okay? Let shit settle down.”

Jared knows better than to hope this goes away quickly, but he stops arguing with Chad, refusing to put him in danger, too.

At school, senior-fever is in full swing as their final semester winds down. Jared musters false enthusiasm, keeps his grades where they need to be despite his assignments feeling minor in the grand scheme of things. He goes to a few parties—thrown by students filling the void left by Katie’s absence—but skips the rest, spending more time alone than he has in years. Solitude doesn’t bring clarity, however. Only confusion.

True to his word, Jensen gives him time. Jared goes weeks without noticing the telltale tingle at the back of his neck; if Jensen is out there, he’s keeping a significant distance.

When he’s not going through the motions with his homework, or filing work orders at his parents’ store, Jared relives his time with Jensen. Combs over their encounters, awkward or arousing, for the smallest clue, but he ends up without a clear picture of what Jensen wants. A relationship, yes, but one based on protection, quid pro quo? One built around friendship, or more? There’s no handbook Jared can turn to, no support. His family, not to mention his best friend, is pressuring him to stay away from Jensen, but he’s just not sure.

Jensen Ackles possesses a wicked reputation, but he’s also the guy who gifted Jared with _car washes_ for his birthday. Who broke down and refused to compel Jared even as he begged to forget the evil he’d grown up with. Jared trusts Jensen to some extent; can’t shake the parts of him that want to see Jensen, learn everything there is to know about him. About _them_.

Once a week, Jared is overwhelmed with the urge to contact Jensen. He surrenders more than a few times. The texts start casually: _Could use some help with my German assignment,_ or _I can’t believe I’m graduating in a few weeks o_O._ They escalate after dark when fear and insecurity prey on Jared’s psyche.

_I need to see you. What’s going on?_

_You ruined everything. I knew you’d disappear when you got what you wanted._

Jared regrets the desperate ones. In either case, Jensen never texts him back.

~~~

Two weeks after an underwhelming graduation celebration, Jared’s drums his fingers on the counter waiting for someone or something to save him from death by boredom while his dad fixes laptops in the back of the store.

Nothing’s changed in weeks; life in Richardson has suffered on, business as usual with the exception of whispers in the dark, louder now than ever before. Jared works full time as summer slowly marches him towards college. He should be excited—looking ahead to the next four years—but dread weighs him down.

The electronic chime on the door wakes him from his daze. He blinks once to clear the bored haze from his eyes, then again to make sure he’s actually _seeing_ what he thinks he’s seeing.

“Katie?”

Katie Cassidy looks around before approaching the counter. She smiles at Jared, but he feels no warmth from it.

“I went to your house first,” she says, “but your mom told me you were working.”

Jared laughs nervously, gesturing to the empty store. “Working…um, sure.” When seeing a long-absent friend, Jared would normally wrap them up in a bear-hug built to squeeze the loneliness out of both of them, but Katie’s aura is holding him away. Her blonde curls are held loosely behind her head with a neon green band, face free of any makeup. She looks tired, a little bit older than Jared remembers. If Jared had gone through what she has, it would show on his face, too.

“So, you were looking for me?”

One more time, Katie’s eyes make a sweep of the store. Jared recognizes the apprehension in her guarded expression. “Any way you could take a break right now?” she asks, and since Jared knows his dad won’t mind, he calls into the back that he’s heading out for a little while.

“Where are we heading?” Jared asks once they’re outside. He doesn’t know what else to say—he hasn’t seen Katie in months. He’d rehearsed a dozen speeches right after she disappeared, each one fading as rumors leaked out. Last Jared heard, Katie was staying with a human family (an oblivious one) and had somehow managed to graduate high school despite not showing up to classes once after her parents disappeared.

“The coffee shop up the street,” Katie says, leading the way. The walk is silent, but once they’ve settled at a café table towards the back of the shop, Katie begins explaining herself.

“I’ve heard a lot of crazy things since I went underground,” she tells Jared, ignoring the cup of black coffee the barista had poured for her. She’d glanced over every single customer when they arrived; Jared’s not sure if she was looking for someone specific or casing the shop.

“Like what?”

“Things about you meeting with some _fang_ ,” she says, keeping her voice low.

“Katie—”

“I didn’t really believe what I was hearing, you know? Because Jared Padalecki _hates_ fangs. Everyone knows that.” 

The anger radiating from Katie is new. Jared’s seen her be happy and sad, wild and flighty, charismatic and serious. But never angry. This isn’t a reunion between friends, it’s an interrogation.

“I still hate them, Katie,” Jared explains carefully, aware that they’re in public. “But Jensen and I have a history.” He’s not afraid to use Jensen’s name; there’s only one vampire Jared could be connected to. “It’s com—”

“Don’t tell me it’s _complicated_ ,” Katie hisses. “After everything that’s happened to me, you think I don’t understand how all this works ? I never thought you, of all people, would tie yourself to a fang. And for what, Jared? What the hell are you getting from him?”

“Nothing,” he admits, barely a whisper. “And I’m not tied to him. He’s not my Patron.” Jared bares his wrists on top of the table. “I don’t wear anyone’s seal.”

She looks, grabs his arms and turns them over as if she can’t believe the lack of a bracelet, the official symbol of protection in Richardson. She deflates. “I don’t understand…”

“With Jensen…it really is complicated.” Jared’s lips twist into an ugly smile. “I think he wants to be my friend, but that’s not really how it all started.”

Their coffees remain untouched as Jared shares most of his history with Jensen. Unlike with Chad, he tells her almost everything, from Jensen helping him with his homework during more than one lazy afternoon, to Jensen’s proposal to Jared’s parents. Katie listens, face blank, until Jared tells her about their showdown with Lyssa Sterling at _Descent_.

“That bitch,” Katie curses. “She was in my house the night…” Katie shudders, takes a moment to collect her emotions. Jared sees her fingernails digging slices out of the tabletop. “The night my mom and dad disappeared, I came home and Lyssa was there, waiting for me.”

“Why?” Jared asks without thinking. Any mention of Lyssa stirs his blood. “What did she say?”

“I—I can’t, Jared. I’m sorry.” She sounds sincerely regretful, and Jared decides not to press. “There’s so much I still don’t understand, so much I can’t figure out. I have no one left,” she says, voice brittle. “I waived protection, you know.”

Katie must have turned eighteen while in hiding. Her parents were obliged to Alex Sterling, and Katie would have had the option to enter into the same kind of contract as soon as she was legally an adult.

“Seriously?”

“Well, it was more like _rejecting_ protection, I guess. I don’t want anything to do with them anymore—I don’t care if it puts me at risk.” 

Jared sympathizes. Protection is made up of nothing but silk bonds. They feel pretty good until you realize you’re caught in a web with nowhere to go. Not to mention there’s something waiting to devour you.

But then Katie says, “Alex made me so many promises, you know? He was willing to make every dream I had come true. And he was charming,” she adds. “I didn’t mind having him around when my parents were…gone.” Jared reaches across the table, brushes the back of her hand with his fingers. It’s all he can do to support her. “He let me do whatever I wanted. We had…I guess I had fun when he was there.”

It sounds so familiar—Jared’s story told in different words. A charming vampire, an impressionable teenager eager for attention. Pretty words and promises that preceded darkness and shattered dreams. Jared’s vision whites out for a few seconds, rage and anger and _hurt_ overcrowding his senses.

God, how could he have been so stupid?

This time, Katie touches him. “I’m sorry, Jared. I didn’t want to make you upset, I just…I need someone to help me. I need answers.” A pause, then, “I think you do, too.”

Words spoken in earnest, bolstered by the kind of determination Jared used to feel before Jensen scrambled his wants and intentions. Here’s someone who’s not telling Jared to back down and lay low, who instead means to join him. Katie has lost more than anyone Jared knows; she has every reason to fade away, disappear, but tragedy has left her empowered. Fed up with solitude, Jared sees Katie as a flame in the darkness he’s been living in.

And there, in an unremarkable coffee shop sitting across from someone Jared never expected to have much in common with, the path in front of him is finally laid out.

**EPILOGUE.**

“Seriously, Mom, I’m fine,” Jared insists as he hustles across campus, past the buzz of streetlights warming up. “You didn’t need to leave seven messages.” Saying that doesn’t stop her from fretting, but he’s slowly getting used to her persistent state of worry.

Jared tucks his cell phone against his cheek, keeping it in place with his shoulder while he tries to close his bag around what feels like twenty pounds of books. He’s just finished his first week of college courses—a dozen other firsts crammed into five days—but this is the _last_ time he’s carrying _all_ of his books to class.

It takes six minutes to walk from Gardner Hall to Jared’s dorm, and his mom rattles on for five-and-a-half. He hangs up with his building in sight; he can already picture Kevin, his engineering roommate from Arkansas, sprawled out somewhere on his half of their fifteen-by-fifteen dorm eating chicken wings and Cheetos. A few more steps and Jared will be safely inside, hopefully stealing whatever buffalo wings are left.

The chill hits him ten feet from the main door. Jared’s heart ices over; he hasn’t felt _cold_ like this in months.

Jared checks the shadows. “Jensen?” Silence. Thirty seconds pass, but the frost within him fails to thaw. “I know you’re there, Jensen,” he says. “We can talk if that’s what you want.”

“Are you sure you can _stomach_ the thought of talking to me?” Jensen’s voice creeps across the back of Jared’s neck. He turns, and the vampire is right there. “Lately, you’ve been quite vocal with your opinions of my kind.”

Even as his heart is pounding, his gut screaming for him to run, Jared squanders vital seconds acknowledging how good Jensen looks. He hasn’t changed much—still flawless—but there’s a sharpness to the finery that Jared fears to touch.

“I was always willing to talk to you,” Jared admits. “You’re the one who disappeared.” Jared recalls the sting of dozens of unanswered texts, the shame of desperate voicemails left in the deepest hours of the night. “You told me you’d come back.”

Jensen’s intense inspection of Jared’s body from nose to toes ignites him from the inside, out. He appreciates the warmth, a little awed by the admiration in Jensen’s gaze.

“Why’d you come here?” Jared presses. “I thought campus was out of bounds.”

“Planning on reporting me to the council?”

He’s not. It would hardly do any good.

After a moment of tense silence, Jensen adds, “I wanted you to know what happened to Nathan and Carmen Cassidy.”

Jared’s shocked. He and Katie have grown closer since graduation, united in their hole-and-corner mission to uncover useful knowledge about Richardson’s non-human population. After Jensen failed to reappear months ago, Jared gave up hope of finding out what happened to Katie’s parents.

“Tell me,” he insists, stepping closer. Jensen remains planted, but a spark catches in his eyes. “Jensen, please…”

The vampire sighs—so human—and says, “Not here.” He leads Jared away from the glass doors, around the side of the building where weak pools of yellow light allow Jared to see his face.

“What do you know?”

Jensen dodges Jared’s stare. “The Cassidys never violated their protection, but they were planning to. They were looking for a way out of their contract with Alex Sterling. And a way out of Richardson.”

“Why?”

Jensen shuffles, his manner uncomfortable. “Their daughter.”

It doesn’t connect right away. Jared processes the vampire’s expression: skin tight around his temples, pinched upper lip, green gaze boring through Jared, begging him to understand so he won’t be forced to explain.

And finally, he does.

“Oh my _god_.” Jared repeats it a few times, but the disgust doesn’t wear off. “Sterling—he wanted…”

Jensen nods. “Katie was still seventeen. Her parents refused his demand. They intended to smuggle her out of town, but they ran out of time. And Alex is used to getting what he wants.”

“Did—” Jared has trouble saying the words. Remembers the vacant look in Katie’s eyes when she’d walked into the computer store. “Did he? Get what he wanted?”

Jensen regards him with care. “No, but Alex didn’t take kindly to her parents’ interference.”

“And that was _okay_ with you?”

“Jared—” Jensen reaches for him but Jared jerks away. The vampire checks the area to make sure they’re still alone. No need to worry—UTCW has a strict curfew (for good reason), and the grounds are deserted.

“I mean it!” Jared seethes. “How could you let this happen?”

“I didn’t know until—”

“Are Katie’s parents even _alive_?” No answer. Jared’s stomach rolls. “So you and your family let this fucking pervert do whatever he wants to the people in _your_ town?”

“Alex will be dealt with.”

“Sorry if I don’t take your word on it. God, when Katie hears about this…”

Suddenly Jensen’s a whole lot closer. “You can’t tell her. I mean it. Katie cannot know.”

Jared spins away, fists clenched, helpless. “I have to do something! Her family is _gone_!”

Jensen is his shadows; he moves with Jared. “You can be there for Katie. Help her. Protect her, and protect yourself. Don’t go any further down this road, Jay. It’s too dangerous,” he quietly asserts, leaving no room for argument.

But Jared _makes_ room. “Her parents disappeared—they’re probably dead! Katie’s not just gonna give up.”

“The truth won’t help her.” _Or her parents_ , Jared hears. ”You need to let this go.”

Rage curdles and rises until Jared tastes bitterness at the back of his throat. He turns away again, needs to break their visual connection before his anger manifests physically. He’s tempted to take a swing, land a wild haymaker into Jensen’s side, but with Jared’s luck the blow would shatter his hand.

For five months he’s helped Katie dig up clues, make subtle inquiries. Their missions have dovetailed into a single quest to weaken the vampires’ influence in Richardson. They haven’t made much, if any progress, but Jared won’t give up. He’s lost too much, sees himself losing even _more_ if Jensen takes this away from him.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Given the silence that follows, it’s possible Jensen has vanished—another mysterious encounter cut short without resolution. But the air remains charged, unnaturally still and heavy.

“You could accept my offer,” Jensen says from behind him. “You’ll need protection if you keep digging like this. I can help you.”

Jared looks back over his shoulder. “I don’t need help.”

Jensen holds his hands up. “Alright, Jay.”

That name again…Jared ignored it the first time. It tugs at him, warm and uncomfortable. Too familiar.

“I know I went about this the wrong way,” Jensen continues. “I never intended to put you in a situation like this. But accepting protection from me is the best way forward. Can’t you see that?”

“All I see is a vampire I’m not sure I can trust anymore,” Jared says, turning around. “I can’t take your deal, Jensen. Vampires have hurt too many people I care about, and I don’t see an end to that. Not while Richardson keeps working the same way.”

The wound is visible in Jensen’s eyes. “I thought you trusted me.”

“How can I?” Jared asks softly.

“I kept my word,” Jensen insists. “I told you about Katie’s parents.”

Jared concedes. “You did, but Katie and her family would never have been in danger if it weren’t for vampires. Do you even know how many people have died—how many have disappeared—because of you?” He almost regrets grouping Jensen in with the rest of his kind, but he can no longer afford to ignore the facts. “You should be protecting _all_ of us from fangs like Alex! Not bargaining with our lives.”

“Is that what you want?” Jensen asks. “Protection without conditions?” He takes a step towards Jared. “Then it’s yours, you don’t need to give me anything in return.”

A violent sense of déjà vu passes through Jared. “Jensen, that’s not what I’m asking for. I need things to change. You and I—we can’t change anything on our own.” He sighs. “I won’t accept.”

Jensen sinks back into the shadows. Jared has the impression he’s been holding them at bay during the entire conversation, but is now resigned to the inevitable. 

“If you need anything…”

Jared shakes his head. “I won’t.”

“Jared.”

“My answer is no,” Jared says, his words little more than an exhale. “You need to leave.”

The vibrancy fades from Jensen’s expression, replaced with the same apathy Jared’s come to abhor. Now he’s facing the Founder’s son, the cold soul. Jared had cradled a small sliver of hope that this meeting would end differently—though _how_ , he’s unable to say—but it’s been reduced to dust.

Jared’s eyes turn up towards the sky; he tries to find one pinprick of light on an inky black canvas. He fails. Not even the stars are accepting wishes in Richardson tonight.

A warm, refreshing breeze touches Jared’s cheek and rouses him. When he looks down, Jensen Ackles is gone.

He tells himself it’s better this way; he’s stronger when he’s not face to face with Jensen. Even so, it’s as if a piece of him has been carved out and stolen, leaving only hollow desolation. 

Jared stands motionless next to his building until he hears the front door creak open, hushed voices in the otherwise quiet evening. Peeking around the corner, Jared watches a guy he recognizes from his dorm hold the door open for a pretty brunette, exasperatedly waving her inside, probably for a Friday-night hook-up. Despite his mood, Jared grins at the subtle reminder that some people do get normal lives.

Just not him.

He takes one final look at the dark sky, catches a single star blinking far across the universe. He’s suddenly struck by the memory of his eighteenth birthday wish. Though Jared accepted it would never come true, he’d kept his wish a secret and never told anyone; if there was magic in the wish, he refused to break it.

The star flashes as if it’s begging Jared to try again, but he turns away. Despite the feelings that have wreaked havoc with his emotions ever since they met, he and Jensen can never be together. His wish—the man who'd appeared in so many of Jared's dreams—was powerless; it had dissolved as soon as he blew out his candles. Jared refuses to indulge in the same longing twice, because the odds could not be stacked higher against them.

It's time to move on.

 

FIN.


End file.
